


Broken and Discarded

by safe_haven



Series: Blood Written Vows [1]
Category: Fall Out Boy
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-03
Updated: 2015-11-12
Packaged: 2018-04-24 14:48:15
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 21
Words: 20,723
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4923730
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/safe_haven/pseuds/safe_haven
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The violent gang of former police grill suspects to find out anything they can about the shooting on 11th street, but all of them are stubborn, and one little birdie won't chirp, no matter how many people his silence is costing. But somehow, Pete Wentz, the leader of the group, can't bear to kill him. <br/>Peterick</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

"Where. Is. It?" Pete asked, slamming the baseball bat into his palm. "I will never tell you!" Gerard yelled. His hands were tied behind the chair that he was strapped to, his red hair dangling like strings next to his chin. They were in an abandoned church, where the gang of former police and detectives who had been cast to the side did most of their work. They were violent and ruthless, and Gerard knew this. He had been in a tussle with them before. "Frank?" Pete whispered. Gerard's eyes widened as he heard the name of someone familiar. He felt something sharp press into his back, and his black jacket was sliced open. He felt blood spill from the wound.

"You can either tell us, or die," Pete warned him, leaning against the bat like a cane. Blood gurgled in Gerard's throat. "It's in the cellar," he choked. Frank eased up on the pressure, then wrapped his fingers in Gerard's hair. "You know," Pete said, his voice dripping from his lips like venom. "I'm not very fond of lies. And you know what happens to liars?" He raised the bat and rested it on his shoulder. Gerard choked. "Just wait until Mikey finds me," he growled.

"Are you sure about that?" Frank whispered in his ear. Gerard gasped as a figure stepped out of the shadows and into the spotlight. Mikey Way stood there, a silver gun in his hand, his finger on the trigger. "Mikey?" Gerard whispered.

Mikey pointed the gun at his older brother, his eyes cold. "Everyone has their price," Frank hissed. "Where's the gun?" Mikey asked, his voice firm. Gerard looked into his brother's eyes. He tried to find the person who had held his hand during the horror movie a few weeks ago.

"I will never-" "Oh yeah? You sure about that?" The lights above head flickered on, bathing the whole room in a white light. A little girl was sitting, tied to a chair. Joe Trohman was holding a gun to her temple, looking Gerard straight into the eyes.

"You don't tell us in the next five minutes, and the girl dies," Brendon Urie spat from the corner of the room. Dallon Weekes leaned against the wall next to him, smiling wickedly at Gerard. The girl was looking fearfully at him, tears staining her cheeks and her brown hair strangling around her jaw, falling from the loose bun on the top of her head.

"Time is ticking," Josh Dun whispered from behind him. "Four minutes," Tyler Joseph said. Gerard blinked, and yet the girl was still there, strapped to the chair. "Three." The girl cried out in fear, struggling against the bonds.

"Two." 

Gerard was silent.

"One."

No words.

BANG!

The girl slumped in her chair, her head lolling as blood gushed from her mouth in a river of red. Her eyes were still open, the blue glazed over. "NO!" Gerard screamed. Blood poured over her white dress, the rest of her hair falling limply.

"Bonus round. Five more minutes." Another light shone in the darkest corner of the room. An older girl, maybe twelve, was standing on a chair. Her neck was circled with a noose. Andy Hurley stood next to the chair.

Gerard recognized the girl almost instantly: Natalie Hernandez. She used to be suicidal, but now she had a reason to live, and dying was her worst fear. Gerard knew that she had just come back from dance class, one of her reasons to live. She was wearing jogging pants and a loose shirt, and her hair was trapped in a ponytail.

She looked at Gerard. "Help me," she whispered, her voice shaking. "Four." Glancing back and forth between Natalie and Pete, Gerard hung his head. "I'm not going to tell you," he whispered. There was a scream, and when Gerard looked up, he saw Natalie's body hanging limp from the ceiling. 

"Care to keep silent any longer?" Pete asked. His heart beating out of his chest, Gerard nodded. "I will never tell you where the gun is." Pete sighed, shaking his head. "Fine then. Frank?" Frank pushed his arm forward, and the tip of the knife pushed through the front of Gerard's stomach. He choked on air for a second before his head fell, and his breathing was cut short.

"We'll just have to find someone else who knows," Pete said, swiping his hand across his cheek. He slammed his hand next to the list of witnesses. "Ryan Ross?" Brendon snorted, which caught the attention of everyone else in the room.

He blushed, looking away. "Eh," he said. "S-Sounds weak. Maybe he doesn't know anything." Dallon stood up fully, pushing himself off the wall to face Brendon. "Just because he's your ex-boyfriend-" "I never dated him!"

As they continued to fight, Pete rolled his eyes, turning back to the list. "Uh...Bob?" Frank threw the bloodied knife at the wall. "I'm not putting up with that douche again," he said. Pete turned back to the list.

"Um...Spencer?" Brendon and Dallon stopped fighting to turn to him. "He doesn't know anything. Trust me." Brendon ran a hand through his jet black hair, grinning at Pete. "I've already taken care of him."

Pete smiled. "I like the way you roll." He turned back to the list. "There's one more name on here. But let's get all this cleaned up first." The group of boys made their way around the room, wiping off blood and taking the three dead people to the corner of the church that held their 'problems.' 

"Okay," Mikey sighed. He couldn't look at his older brother now. They had been so close. Nobody seemed to notice as Pete jogged back through the pews, looking at the list that was taped to the podium at the front.

"Um...the last name." His pale finger ran down the line. The other boys settled down on the first pew as if they were about to hear a sermon. Frank reached back and got a black leather journal and pen, getting ready to write down the poor witness's name that had to deal with them.

Pete turned around to face the group. "Anyone heard of a 'Patrick Stump'?"


	2. Chapter 2

Pete looked across everyone in the room, but they all shook their head. No one knew Patrick. "Fine, then we'll have to bring him in." A few calls were made to people on the outside, including Ryan Ross, totally against Dallon's will. Soon, a completely calm man was brought in, his hands tied behind his back with a rope. Mikey pushed him into the chair and tied him to it. He looked up into Pete's eyes, his own a mixture of green, hazel, and blue. His strawberry hair was swept to the side perfectly, but the fedora on top of his head was knocked askew. His pale face was relaxed, and he was dressed in jeans and a black t shirt. "Okay, Patrick," Pete said. "I hear you know where the gun is from the shooting on 11th street."

Patrick shrugged. "I may or may not. Either way, I'm not telling you." Pete pounded his baseball bat into his hand, and Patrick glanced at it, but looked back at Pete with no emotion. "I've looked at you for two seconds and I've figured you out. Single, obviously, because no girlfriend would let you go out looking like that. You never use that bat. There's no blood on it. You let Frank do all your dirty work which is what I found out from the bloody knife in the wall, and I have some inside spies that find you out for me. Guess who." Pete looked around at his group, but they were all looking at him with a look of confused and firm seriousness as they all shook their heads.

Pete looked back at the relaxed Patrick. "Mikey, cock your gun. This little birdie's not gonna sing." Patrick stared into the barrel of the gun with a serene smile. "You think you're going to hurt me, but you really won't, and you know it." Patrick shifted his gaze so he was staring at Pete again. "You know deep inside that you can't hurt a soul." Pete stormed angrily to the wall, and flicked on the light switch to the darkest corner of the church. He gestured towards the dead, bloody bodies, with the two girls being on top. "You think I can't hurt anybody?" he yelled. Patrick watched his fury without emotion. "You didn't hurt those people," he said calmly. Pete, looking around at his shocked team, yelled in rage and punched the wall. "Get out!" he yelled. "I wanna have some alone time with my little birdie." The scared team scrambled out of the sanctuary, out the white doors and into the dark children's wing.

Frank flicked on the lights, and Patrick could see them beneath the oak doors. "Did you see that gun pointed at you?" Pete asked. Patrick smiled at him. "Yes, and who was pointing it at me? Mikey. Who was going to pull the trigger?" Pete leaned in so his face was two inches from Patrick's. "You listen here and you listen good, birdie," he hissed. "Who is workin' for you?" Patrick looked into Pete's eyes, silent. "JOE!" Pete yelled. Joe opened the door, striding out. "Show this birdie his children." A light was flicked on, and a young girl was standing there. Joe was already behind her, Frank's bloody knife at her throat. "Now, since you don't want to sing, you have thirty seconds to tell me where the gun is," Pete said, taking a step back. "Or...Frank?" Frank came in, sharpening a new knife. He strode over slowly to Patrick, the scrape of metal against metal ringing through the church

. "He will dig this into your back. Not enough to kill you, but enough to hurt. Badly. After thirty seconds, the girl dies. After another thirty seconds, you bleed. After another thirty seconds, you die." Patrick nodded softly, looking up at Pete. "You can kill me and everyone and everything I hold dear to me, but you will never pull an answer out of me. What you do is wrong, and I will not stand for it." Pete kicked him hard in the shin, but Patrick didn't flinch. "You have twenty seconds." Patrick was silent. "Ten." No words were spoken. "Nine." Andy pressed his ear against the door, looking worriedly at the others. "Eight." Brendon's breath caught. "Seven." Dallon stared expectantly at Andy, but he shook his head.

"Six." Pete started counting slower. He didn't want to preserve the child's life; no, he had no care for her. But he knew what the redhead had said was true: he could not kill him. "Five." Dallon wrapped his arms around his boyfriend from behind, resting his chin on the top of Brendon's head. "Four." The girl cried out, closing her hazel eyes. "Three." Beads of blood bubbled around the knife, Joe's hand getting impatient around the hilt. "Two." There was silence. Patrick looked up into Pete's eyes, no emotion evident on his face. "One." Patrick shrugged. "Joe, kill the girl." Patrick watched with no sudden movements as the knife was brought quickly to from the right to the left. The girl crumpled to her knees, then fell in a heap to the ground, silent as her blonde hair floated to the back of her head. Another light flicked on, and Tyler was leaning against the wall, a little boy tied to the chair in front of him.

Tyler was holding a wire in his hand, coiling it in circles the size of the boy's neck, as if to prove a point. "Frank," was all Pete said, though his eyes were focused on Patrick's. He licked his lips nervously. Suddenly, Patrick flinched and cried out. Pete couldn't take it. "Hey!" he snapped. "We need the birdie alive. I can tell he's about to crack." Frank nodded and eased up on the pressure, even though Pete knew that Patrick wasn't about to crack. Thirty seconds went by, and Patrick still didn't talk. Tyler wrapped the cord around the boy's neck, and he screamed, kicking and struggling. "Shut up, you little bastard!" Tyler yelled. The boy soon fell silent, and the cord was wrapped tighter around his neck, until he fell completely limp, and it was released as Tyler stepped back. "Okay, boss," Frank said. "Just tell me when to drive it through." Pete stared uncertainly at Patrick, and several minutes went by.

"Boss?" Frank asked again. Pete shook his head. "Let him go," he sighed. "What?" Brendon yelled, barging through the door. "Let him GO!" Pete shouted, punching the wall. Patrick's hands were untied, and he got up. "You," Pete hissed. He slammed Patrick against the now ruined wall. "You will come back here tomorrow at 12, no sooner, no later. You will sit in that fucking chair, and you will tell me where the hell the gun is, and who you're little buddies are." Patrick nodded, then slipped away.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey, since I'm uploading this from Wattpad, up until chapter eleven, the updates will be quick, and then it will take longer. Thanks for reading <3

On his way to the abandoned church, Pete passed a little girl on a park bench reading a book that was cradled in her hands. She fiddled with the corners of the pages, her brown hair whispering in silent streams around her head. Pete knelt next to her, smiling brightly. She looks up, her blue eyes glinting in the early morning light. "Hello, little girl," Pete said. She smiled back at him, her chubby cheeks sprinkled with freckles. As he looks into her eyes, he can see the way that he will kill her. Poison injected in her veins, watching the blood pour out of her. That will be torture enough for Patrick. "It's hot out here, isn't it?" he soothed to her.

The little girl nodded, closing her book as if preparing for another boring conversation. "Want to go get some ice cream with me?" Pete asked carefully. The girl nodded eagerly, and Pete felt a little bad. She couldn't be more than six or seven. He led her carefully down the winding path to the abandoned church. After a mile, the girl became uneasy. They were heading into the woods on the well known, well worn out path. "Where are we going?" she asked nervously. Taking the sedative out of his pocket, Pete shook his head. "There's better ice cream on the other side." With that, he stabbed her. The needle broke through her soft skin almost instantly, and Pete closed her eyes as he wrapped his muscled arm around her small throat.

He knew later that when he injected the poison into the crook of her elbow, the veins on her wrist would turn a blood red. The girl fell limp in his arms, and he threw her carelessly over his shoulder, jogging the next mile to the church. Slamming open the doors, he yelled for Joe to get the poisoned needle and for Dallon to be the one to kill the girl. As Dallon was propping up the girl and tying up her wrists, Joe ran out the door from the adult wing, brandishing his needle. He threw it to Josh, who had been trained to catch it without being hurt by the weapon. Josh tossed the needle to Dallon as he reached up from the knot he had formed with the rope. "Okay, Frank, what time is it?" Frank glanced at the clock hanging above the exit doors. "11:58, boss," he said. Pete nodded. "Mikey, go out and get the birdie." Mikey jumped into action, getting the sedative and rope in case Patrick wanted to struggle.

But five minutes later, Mikey came in with Patrick, and Patrick showed no signs of a struggle as he was tied again to the chair. Dallon positioned himself next to the girl as Mikey put the sedative in one of the golden offering plates. "Okay, little birdie," Pete hummed softly, picking up the baseball bat and pounding it against his palm. Patrick lifted his head to look into Pete's eyes for the second time in as many days. "Tell me who your inside is." Patrick smiled, a very small smile, a very mocking smile. "You want to know who my inside is?" he asked quietly. Pete nudged Patrick's shin with his bat. "YES, I do!" he exclaimed, impatient. He wasn't in the mood for Patrick's little games today. Patrick nodded, and looked back at the ground. "If you really want to, I'll tell you." Pete made eye contact with Brendon and motioned him to get a knife and start hurting the little punk. Patrick closed his eyes, his head still bowed, preparing himself for what was about to come.

Yes, he felt it, like a little pinching at his back. He felt blood pressing up out of his skin, he felt his skin break aside like a river splitting open in the middle. Of course, Patrick knew Pete's weakness, and if he played his cards right, he could get answers out of Pete. But no, the time was not right. Not yet. Patrick felt his eyes rolling to the back of his head, but what Pete didn't know was that Patrick enjoyed pain. It meant he was getting somewhere. You can't go anywhere without pain. Pain is a precious feeling. "You," he finally whispered. "What?" Pete snapped. "You." Patrick lifted his eyes. "You are my inside." He felt the pressure release from his back. Brendon was in shock. "I'm not your 'inside.'" Pete spat the last word, and then moved forward to slap Patrick. But Patrick wasn't worried. If Pete did slap him, that meant pain. Pain meant getting somewhere.

If he didn't, then Patrick knew the one weakness he needed of Pete: Patrick. Pete stood still in front of Patrick for a while, his hand raised. Then, he slowly lowered his hand and stepped back. "Dallon, show him the damn girl," he finally muttered under his breath. A light shone from the short ceiling, and Dallon was standing with the needle poking into the skin, but not deep enough to draw blood. The girl had woken up, but her eyes had changed colors. Either that was from the sedative or it was natural, Pete did not know, but now they were a sparkling hazel. Child like. Vulnerable. Small. Scared. A thin line of blood still trickled down her neck from where Pete had struck earlier.

Dallon growled at Patrick, but Patrick just easily lifted his gaze from Dallon to the girl, then to Dallon again, as if this happened everyday. "Kill the child," he told Dallon. He bit his lip and looked at Pete. Pete just nodded. The girl cried out as the needle pierced her skin, and then the poison slowly took effect, turning her veins red, turning her eyes a light blue again, and then she slumped over in her seat. No pain had taken place, Pete knew. He had picked out the poison just for a small girl like herself. Turning back to Patrick, Pete expected horror or fear. Patrick was still emotionless. He smiled mockingly at Pete again. Pete yelled in frustration. That was it. He knew what he had to do. He had to kill Patrick.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trigger warning!! From this chapter and on, be careful if you're triggered easily.

"Brendon, press harder." Patrick lifted his eyes calmly to Pete's. Pain shot up his back, but he was quiet. He still needed answers from Pete. "Okay," Pete whispered, looking into Patrick's eyes. "Press just a little harder..."

Now. Now was the first time. Patrick screamed, throwing his head back in pain. "STOP!" Pete yelled. Patrick felt blood pouring out of his back, and he forced his chest up and down as if gasping for breath. 

Pete ran forward, and Patrick did something that he had not expected him to do. He touched Patrick's face. Right on his jaw, his fingertips pressed down, his brown eyes worried. "Pete?" Brendon asked. 

"Get the damn knife out of him." Patrick felt it, and it hurt worse than when Brendon had pushed it in. Patrick cried out again, and he saw Pete flinch. "Untie him," Pete commanded. Josh rushed forward, and Patrick felt his fingers fumbling around the knot.

Patrick brought his hands to his lip, rubbing the red marks on his wrist. "Everyone-leave. Except for you, birdie." Patrick studied his face, trying to find any tricks or smugness, but he seemed to be genuinely concerned for Patrick. He kept his guard up just in case.

Pete swallowed hard, looking into Patrick's eyes. "Hi," he said. Their faces were inches apart now. Patrick looked at him with pained eyes. "It hurts," he whimpered softly. Pete's eyes softened, moving forward and taking Patrick's wrist. "I'm sorry," he whispered. He ran his thumb softly across the scars that the rope had caused.

His breath caught when Patrick winced, and he straightened up, reaching out his hand to Patrick. "Come here," he said gently. "I want to help." Pete led Patrick out of the church, going down the well known, well worn out path, deep into the woods that soon opened into the city.

XXX

Patrick cried out as Pete pressed a wet wash cloth to the knife wound, and Pete immediately yanked his hand back. "I'm so sorry, I-" "It's fine, it's fine, Pete...it's just...God, it hurts." Patrick lowered his head, squeezing his eyes shut in pain.

Pete moved so he was facing Patrick, and he touched his fingertip to Patrick's chin, slowly tipping it up. "I'm sorry. For everything," he whispered. Patrick looked into his eyes. He could see something in them...love? No, it was stupid. Silly. Patrick was still baiting him. 

"Here." Pete slipped his fingers under Patrick's shirt, lifting it up and over his head. Patrick shrugged it off, flinching as it passed over his cut. He hunched his shoulders, lowering his head again. Pete took the wash cloth and began touching it to Patrick's wrist, trying to help the rope burns. Patrick almost yanked his hand away, but managed to stay still, though he was shaking as Pete rubbed the wash cloth softly over the burns.

"Are you okay?" Pete asked softly. Patrick nodded, heaving a shuddering breath as he tried to calm down, but pain spiked through his arm at every touch of the cold water. He whimpered, and Pete paused to stroke his arm. "Sh, Patrick," he whispered. "It'll be okay, promise." Patrick smiled at him tightly, his teeth clenched. 

Patrick licked his lips, shaking his head. He took a deep breath through his nose. Pete smiled. "If it makes you feel any better...um...I have a scar on my stomach from one of my more challenging...clients." Pete tugged off his shirt, too, then took Patrick's wrist back in his hand. Suddenly, something caught Pete's eye. "Um...Patrick..." Patrick hummed, his eyes still closed. "Why...why do you have scars on your stomach?"

Everything came flooding back to Patrick in a wave of pain, and he wondered why he had let Pete take off his shirt in the first place. Pete looked back up at Patrick, and saw that his face was now distorted in pain. "Patrick?" Pete whispered. "Please tell me they're not-" "Pete, please," Patrick begged. He forced his eyes open. "Please stop..." he trailed off, his voice laced with torture. 

"Patrick, I just want to make sure you're okay-" "Pete, I...I'm not...I really don't want to talk about this right now if...if you don't mind..." Patrick was now breathing heavily, trying to hold back tears and fighting pain.

Pete nodded softly, but he couldn't take his mind off the red scars that stretched across his stomach. What struck his heart was the fact that a string of them spelled out the word 'worthless,' and seemed to be the most recent one. Pete gulped, pressing the cool wash cloth to Patrick's wrist again, trying hard to ignore it. 

Patrick turned his head away, his breathing shaking, tears streaking down his cheeks. Pete licked his lips as he gently rubbed at the redness until it subsided. He set the wash cloth on the sink, coughing into the inside of his elbow. He helped Patrick up, smiling at him. Patrick returned it with a pained smile, then turned away, wrapping his arms around his bare chest as his shoulders shook. 

Pete knew that his little gang of former police would be there any second to interrogate him, but he didn't care. "Patrick?" he asked. "Yeah?" Patrick replied. Suddenly, Patrick's back was against the wall, Pete's bare chest pressing against Patrick's. Pete's face was inches from Patrick's, and Patrick could feel Pete's breath against his lips in little puffs of air. He looked into Pete's eyes, his own wide. 

Pete breathed heavily as if catching his breath. "K, little birdie," he whispered. Patrick felt something press against his hips, and he knew that Pete's next move would be to slice him open with the knives he held in his hands.

He closed his eyes, accepting his punishment. He knew this was going to happen at some time; that soon, Pete would snap. Pete wrapped his hands around Patrick's hips, pushing him closer to the wall. He watched Patrick close his eyes, and he wondered what Patrick thought he was doing. Whatever it was, it was wrong. He was going to do something that no one could have expected. 

He pressed his lips to Patrick's. 


	5. Chapter 5

"Pete," Patrick gasped against his lips. "Scars..." He started shaking, and Pete pulled away, feeling a sick thick (haha that rhymed) liquid against his stomach. Blood from Patrick's 'worthless' scar was smeared against him. 

"Patrick, I'm so-" he was cut off by Patrick slipping down the wall, his arms wrapped around himself. Pete fell to his knees in front of him, reaching out to touch his jaw again, his fingertip pressing on the same spot, halfway between his nose and mouth. 

"Are you okay?" he asked softly, holding Patrick's gaze. "I..." Patrick trailed off, shaking his head as Pete lowered his hand. "Pete, I have to-" he was interrupted by the front door being swung open. "PETE!" Joe yelled.

Patrick scrambled to his feet, his breathing heavy as more tears streaked down his cheeks. "Pete," he sobbed, falling forward into Pete's arms, and Pete felt his chest heaving against his, wet tears being cried into his shoulder. 

Pete buried his face into the crook of Patrick's neck, pressing a kiss there softly. Joe banged on the bathroom door. He was holding a gun to the door, not afraid to shoot through it. "Sh, Patrick," Pete whispered into his ear, more soothingly than warningly. 

"It'll be okay. I promise." He stroked his hair, tangling his fingers into the combed strawberry mess. Patrick was shaking in his arms, but he was starting to calm down. "Pete..." Patrick says, almost too small to hear. 

"Yeah?" Pete asked. "T-The gun is..." Suddenly, all the memories flood back to him. Patrick. Patrick was only here because he knew where the gun is. But as Pete pulled away, seeing Patrick's innocent eyes, his pale face distorted in pain and sadness, he was unsure whether he still wanted answers out of him. 

"...i-it's in-" "No, Patrick," Pete said, shaking his head. "I don't want that anymore. I don't care about the gun. I care about you. I want you to be okay." His hands slipped down to Patrick hips, and he pulled him closer, carefully touching his lips to Patrick's. "B-But I thought..." Patrick swallowed hard, but Pete smiled at him, and Patrick forced himself to return it. "It's okay."

Joe slammed his fist against the door again, but that didn't seem to matter to either of them very much anymore. Patrick searched Pete's eyes for what seemed like forever. "Y'know, my little birdie," Pete said. He was still close enough to feel Patrick's shuddering breath beating like a heart against his lips.

"When I first met you, you were kind of being an asshole." Patrick threw his head back, a pained laugh choking out of his throat. "When I met you, you were being a serial killer." Pete slipped his hand on Patrick's cheek, using his thumb to wipe away his tears and gave a little laugh.

"It's not fair," Patrick whispered suddenly, his eyes serious. "Well, that's good," Pete said. "'Cause we don't fight fair."  **  
**

Patrick rolled his eyes, but suddenly, the bathroom door slammed open. Joe was standing there, a gun pointed at both of them. He smiled, a cigarette dangling between his teeth. Running a hand through his hair, his thumb came down, and a clicking sound echoed through the bathroom. He pointed it at Patrick, then Pete, his trigger finger steady, his eyes focused.

"I have three bullets," he growled. "And that means I can kill myself. That's the only way I'm going to get this image out of my head. Nice tattoo, pretty boy." He used the gun to gesture to the scars on Patrick's stomach. "Worthless?" he asked. "Well, it can only tell the truth." A strangled cry gurgled out of Patrick's throat, and Pete stepped in front of him. "Fuck off, asshole," he spat to Joe, and Joe raised his eyebrows. 

"Oh, I'm about to. Once both of you are dead. You betrayed us." Pete narrowed his eyes at him. "How?" he asked. "I don't know," Joe said, his eyes jumping between the two of them, both shirtless. "By fuckin' the enemy, I guess." 

Patrick's face flushed a bright red. "First of all," Pete said. "I didn't fuck him. And second of all, he's not the enemy." Joe's face flashed with something that Patrick could not recognize-anger, frustration??-but he soon composed himself and smiled almost sickly sweet, his teeth almost bared like fangs against the cigarette.

He threw the gun onto the white counter, and it clattered loudly. He took a lighter out of his pocket, holding the small red container gingerly in one hand. "I don't like lies," he whispered. He flicked his thumb, and a fire jumped to life, flickering in the small puffs of breath from Joe's open mouth.

Silence took over the room, except for the crackling of the tiny flame as Joe slowly raised it to the tail end of the cigarette. It glowed red, and then the fire was captured, licked up again by the container. Joe sucked in the smoke slowly, eyeing Pete and Patrick. They watched him warily. 

The curly haired man took the cigarette between two fingers, slowly dragging it out of his mouth. He formed a circle with his mouth, and smoke blew in a stream of gray bleakness into the air in front of his face. 

"And..." He sighed, and even more smoke reached the air around him. "You know what I do to liars." It wasn't a question; it was a statement. He carelessly dropped the cigarette, and it fell to the floor. He stomped on it, hard, and black embers puffed out beneath his black leather boots. 

He picked up his gun as if picking up the morning newspaper. He smiled, almost drunkenly, as he pointed it at the floor, cocking it. The click of metal against metal rang through the air as the bullet slid into place. He placed his finger on the trigger steadily, his eyes trained on the floor. Then, his eyes flicked up, and he was looking at Pete through his eyelashes. He slowly raised the gun, pointing it straight at Pete. 


	6. Chapter 6

Patrick was frozen, his wide eyes focused on the barrel of the gun. Suddenly, someone yanked Joe back, spinning him around. A girl with bright blue eyes and black hair knocked the gun out of his hand with her knee, and her fist collided with his temple, sending him out cold. She turned toward them, blowing a strand of curly hair out of her eyes. She was wearing a black crop top, black leather jeans, and black ankle boots. Some of her stringy hair was bundled into a pony tail, but a lot bounced around her jawline. Her lips were painted black, eye liner ringing her eyes and making them darker. A scar stretched from her right side to the left side, nothing but a pink memory.

Her chest rises and falls with each short breath she takes, and she smiles mockingly. "Good to see you again," she says breathlessly. She pushes a corner of her black jacket away, reaching into her pocket and taking a butcher knife out. It spins in her hand before it's held still, and she's watching them both with a sense of readiness, poised to attack. "Haven?" Patrick asked. She tilted her head, her hand pulling her hair away from her pale neck, and there, printed in black ink, was a red eyes with egyptian eye liner spiraling away from it. Pete's breath caught; he recognized that symbol. It was the sign for a group of people just like his own, but these sought out the people who got away from the crime scene, not witnesses. "Patrick," she smiles. "An old buddy turned bad. Come with me." She started to move towards them, but Pete pushed her against the wall. She gasped as her back collided with it.

Patrick shot forward, using the one weakness he knew Haven had. He yanked on her hair, then brought his knee up. It struck her stomach, and she screamed, blood gurgling in her throat as the scar started to bleed with fresh blood. Pete started to run, catching Patrick's hand on the way out, dragging him out the door with him. Patrick noticed that he had gotten their shirts, and quickly tugged his over his head. Patrick was breathing heavily, and he stopped, his hands on his knees as he tried to catch his breath. "Who WAS that?" Pete hissed, raking a hand through his hair as he looked up at Patrick. Patrick spit blood into the grass, coughing. "Her name is Haven. We used to be best friends in high school, then I took the wrong path, and ended up getting into drugs." He drew in a ragged breath, swiping at his cheek as he started to continue his story. "May have robbed a place or two, but nothing too serious.

She caught me and tried to take me to turn me in. See that scar on her stomach?" Pete gave a firm nod. "I gave her that. Took a knife to the stomach." Pete blinked, finding it hard to believe that Patrick, the boy who had been shaking only minutes before, could ever hurt anyone. "She's going to be awake and alive any second now," Patrick said, standing straight. "We need to go." Pete grabbed his hand. "Wait. Let me call Frank. He can help. "Patrick growled, but sat down and watched as Pete turned around. He stuck his phone to his ear, starting to talk. "Hey, Frank, I-" Patrick didn't hear the rest. He had gotten up, turning around and starting to walk. He swallowed hard as tears started to streak down his cheeks. He didn't want to hurt Pete. He didn't want to be the reason Pete was hurt. As soon as he turned the corner, he pushed himself into a sprint. Dodging past people, he rubbed at his eyes, not knowing where he was going, just knowing that he couldn't let Pete catch him. His palm slammed against the brick of a building, and he could feel blood trickling down. He had thrown himself into an alley, and he tripped, stumbling and falling on the cement. He put his back to the wall, still on the ground. Sniffing and breathing heavily, he took a knife out of his pocket.

 

Pete ended his call, shoving his phone back into his pocket. Sighing, he turned around, and found Patrick gone. "Patrick?" he called. "Patrick?" He searched slowly and carefully, first going back into the house. He turned into his kitchen, but it was empty. Pete grabbed a water from the fridge, and then ducked into the hallway. He rubbed his hand against his stomach, dragging his shirt with it. "Where could Patrick be?" he asked himself, so quietly that it was almost a whisper. "God, Patrick." He sighed and rolled his eyes, then turned around, only to find a gun pointed at his chest. Haven was standing there, dried blood running down her chin. She smiled at his, her eyes dark with pain. "Surprise," she said simply.

 Patrick put a hand to his stomach, apologizing to Pete is a small, calm voice that got louder and more desperate as tears streaked down his cheeks. "I'm so-I'm so sorry, I-" tears choked him, and he screamed, hunching his small shoulders. His fingertips slipped beneath his shirt slowly, and he lifted it just so it was showing his stomach. "I'm so sorry..." he whispered.

One cut,

two cut,

three cut,

four.

Pete

won't

care

anymore.


	7. Chapter 7

Pete held up his hands in surrender, his heart beating against his ribcage. "You know why you don't scare me, Haven?" he asked her, lifting his brown eyes to her blue ones. Her hand was steady, her face calm. A small smile touched her lips.

"Why is that, Pete?" she asked. Pete took a deep breath through his nose as if thinking. "Well, Haven, I know I'm not the one you want. You want Patrick. And I will tell you where he is," Pete lied, trying to keep his voice calm.

Excitement flickered in Haven's eyes, but Pete held up a hand. "On one condition," he finished, smirking. Haven showed no signs of moving her gun. "What?" she hissed. "What is your one condition, pretty boy?" If Pete heard the nickname, he gave no indication of it. "You will give me your gun. You cannot kill him." Haven considered the deal, looking Pete up and down as she thought. Finally, she sighed, and lowered her gun.

"Fine," she spat. "Tell me where he is." Pete shook his head, holding out a hand. "Gun first." Haven looked disgusted at the suggestion that she give up her weapon. "Tell me where he is," she said. Pete held up his right hand, looking at her right in the eye. "I swear to you,  _swear to you_ , that I will tell you if you give me the gun. But I will tell you nothing if you do not give the gun first," he told her carefully.

Haven looked at him, and finally sighed, giving up her gun. "Okay, thank you." He examined it, running a thumb over it. A bullet clicked into place silently, and he slid his finger over the trigger. "I'll tell you where Patrick is now." He looked at Haven, who was waiting patiently, her hands in her pockets. He took a deep, shuddering breath. "Patrick is-"

_BANG!_

Haven's eyes widened, her mouth dropping open. She fell to her knees, gasping now for breath. She collapsed to her side, her eyes closing. Pete kicked her body once before reloading the gun and kneeling down. He traced his own jaw line with the gun while he patted her down for anymore weapons. He managed to unstrap her knife, and slid it into the waistband of his pants, then continued on.

Joe was awake now, blinking. Pete held up his gun, pointing it straight at Joe's head. Joe scrambled to his feet, his hands held up. "Dude, p-please don't shoot me." Pete growled at him, but continued on. He had to find Patrick.

 

Patrick's vision was beginning to blur, blood still slowly trickling down his side. He fought for breath, his sobs never calming. Suddenly, he heard a familiar voice calling his name. Pete. Pete couldn't find him. Pete couldn't couldn't get hurt. "Patrick?" The voice was closer now, confused. Then, a rush of panic and worry edged into it. "PATRICK!" Pete was kneeling front of him. "Patrick, I can't believe I-I'm so sorry-I just..."

Pete tripped over his words, but Patrick couldn't hear him. There was a ringing in his ears that took him over. He looked at Pete. He was talking, his mouth was moving, but all Patrick could hear was static. Static and ringing. Pete reached out to touch his bleeding stomach, and Patrick felt a cry gurgle out of his throat.

Pete pulled his arm back, and Patrick could just barely make out the words "I'm sorry." Patrick closed his eyes, his head aching with each breath he took. "No-No, Patrick! Please stay with me!" Pete's voice broke through the ringing, and the pain in Patrick's stomach was almost overwhelming. He was clutching the bloody knife in his head so hard that his knuckles were white, and he was shaking. "Pete," Patrick whimpered softly.

"Patrick, it's going to be okay, I promise, just please hold on." Patrick shook his head furiously, a strangled scream ripping through him. "I can't, I really can't, I-" "Sh," Pete whispered, shaking his head. He took Patrick's shirt from off the ground, trying to pull it over Patrick's head. At first, he was still, but as soon as the fabric hit his scars, he screamed in pain, and Pete quickly pulled the shirt back.

"What am I supposed to do to help you?" Pete whispered, more to himself than to Patrick. "Stay right here, Patrick, just please...hold on." Pete got up to leave, but he heard Patrick's voice, a small, quiet whimper. "Please don't leave me," he said. Pete knelt back down, taking Patrick's wrist and forcing his gaze to Patrick's. "I promise you, Patrick, I am right here. I am coming right back, I just need to get something from my house, but I will be right back, Patrick. And after that, I will never leave your side." 

This time, Patrick made no sounds as Pete walked away.

 

Pete pushed open the door to his house, cursing under his breath as he stepped over Haven's body in the hallway. There was no sign of Joe anymore, and as Pete searched through every room for him, Pete soon realized that he had escaped without touching anything. With that thought fresh in mind, he made his way to the closet, taking out a towel and a bottle of water from his fridge. He saw the one he had before on the floor, next to the dead body of Haven.

As he walked back down the street, pushing past people, he thought of all the reasons why Patrick would have called himself worthless.

Would have hurt himself.

He didn't understand. Patrick was so perfect. Why didn't he see it? Pete lowered his head. "Probably because I made him feel that way," he whispered. Even when he tried his hardest to be perfect, sitting tied up in that chair, Pete had made him feel so useless by still killing people. Patrick thought he was just a mistake that deserved to die with the girl.

"Patrick," Pete whispered. "Please hold on." 

 

Patrick waited for Pete, passing the time by crying. He hated himself. He was just a mistake, set on this Earth to die with the rest of the human bitches who walked past the alleyway. A girl went by, her head down, twisting a piece of hair between two fingers with a hand that was held with a wrist that adorned scars.  _One of me_ , Patrick thought.

Other people walked by, and Patrick's heart only lifted when Pete turned into the alleyway, walking slowly down the crack covered cement and knelt next to Patrick. "You know, Patrick, I think...I mean...I-I don't think you're worthless. I think...I think you're amazing." Patrick didn't respond. He was staring intently into Pete's eyes, trying to find something, anything, that could tell him what he wanted to hear.

_You are beautiful, Patrick. You are beautiful to me._

Pete, again, touched the pads of his fingers to Patrick's jaw, but this time, slowly slid them until they were resting below his mouth. He used his thumb to rub across Patrick's bottom lip, smiling lightly at him. Patrick returned the smile with pain, and Pete felt the skin stretch under his thumb. Snapping out of his faze, Pete uncapped the water bottle, pouring it across the cloth.

"You thought the rope burns hurt," he told Patrick. "Get ready to go through hell." Patrick let out a sort of laugh, tilting his head back and squeezing his eyes shut. Pete managed to clean all of the cuts and scars and get Patrick's shirt back over his head without Patrick screaming. Finally, Pete and Patrick were standing in front of each other, Patrick's back inches in front of the wall.

Pete smiled softly, but before Patrick had time to return the smile, his back slammed against the wall. He gasped, his eyes opening wide. Pete pinned Patrick's hands on the wall, over his head, and crashed his lips against Patrick's. "You are beautiful, Patrick," Pete whispered against his lips. "You are beautiful to me."

 


	8. Chapter 8

A little girl, only twelve years old, stood, almost pressed to the shelves of the book store. Her eyes scanned over every book, her lips moving silently. Candles flickered in the wind from outside. Gray clouds were rolling in, warning of rain. The glass door of the book store was propped open, the small windows displaying classics. This was the girl's favorite place. It was a small, family-owned business, and it always smelled like a bakery.

It felt like home to her, the air like a blanket. She finally selected a book, pushing brown hair out of her eyes with the white sleeve of her shirt. "Oh," Ms. Gaston, the cashier, hummed. "The Demon's Wings? Wonderful tale." She looked over her glasses at the girl, a knowing smile on her lips. "You'll love it. Romance, adventure, comedy, and the likes of it." The girl smiled, nodding politely as she handed Ms. Gaston the money she had stored in her pocket. 

"Yes, I know. I can't wait to start reading it." She accepted the book from the old woman. "Thank you, Ms. Gaston. See you later." The girl waved, then pushed her glasses to the bridge of her nose, walking out the door. The wind was blowing strongly, but it was a warm wind. As she took a deep breath, the girl noticed the faint scent of the bakery drifting in the gray evening. She walked to the cafe just across the empty street, her brown boots clicking on the pavement.

She pushed open the door, catching the attention of someone wiping down the counter. "Isabelle!" Luke smiled. "What's up?" Isabelle smiled, stopping as she turned to look at her. "Nothing much." She waved her new book in the air. "Perfect day to read, huh?" Luke grinned. Isabelle nodded, lowering her book slowly as she watched Luke throw his wash cloth into the basin. "Want a caramel latte?" He asked her.

"Ah," she breathed, pulling the remainder of her money out. "That would be perfect. Thank you, Luke." He accepted the cash, and turned around, beginning to work on the drink. "So, how's college going?" Isabelle asked politely. "Going well. I have a few teachers I know you would love. They're all about reading." He pushed the drink across the counter, and she caught it in her palm, taking a small sip out of it.

"How's the seventh grade?" Luke asked in return, leaning over the counter. "Seventh grade is going perfectly. I love all of my teachers. Well, my mom is expecting me home, soon, so I have to go. But it's great seeing you!" She waved to Luke, smiling that smile that lights up a room. She pushed open the door to the cafe, letting it slam behind her. As soon as she turned around, though, she almost ran into a man with black hair and light brown eyes. 

"Whoa!" she yelped as some of her coffee spilled onto the pavement. "Sorry!" Patrick hissed as he accidentally hit Pete in the back, and then moved to his side. "Pete, why'd you-oh...my...god...." Patrick stared at Isabelle, and once Isabelle saw him, her eyes narrowed. "You," she growled under her breath. She seemed to have forgotten who she was just a moment before. Pete looked between the two of them, who were currently having a staring contest.

"D-Did I miss something?" he asked. Isabelle shoved past them, rolling her eyes. "Who was that?" Pete asked. "No one." Patrick sighed. "Not important." He flinched as another sharp pain shot through his stomach, and Pete grabbed his hand again, leading him away. "Come on, Patrick," Pete said. "You need a nap." Patrick gave in, letting Pete drag him along. He was in desperate need of a nap. 

Once they got to Pete's house, Pete led Patrick to the living room and told him he could sleep on the couch. Patrick collapsed there, breathing heavily and curling in on himself. Pete chuckled at this, kneeling beside him. Patrick stretched out, his blue eyes meeting Pete's brown ones. "Hey," Pete said softly. Patrick smiled. "Hey," he replied.

"Patrick, I want you to know something." Patrick searched Pete's eyes for a moment, his heart beating against his rib cage. For a few seconds, the only sound was their breath, in and out, as slowly as ever. "What is that?" Patrick finally asked into the silence. Pete stared at Patrick, his mind going a million miles an hour with everything that he wanted to say, but he couldn't bring himself to tell Patrick any of it. 

"I..." Pete trailed off, still raking his mind for the right words. "I just.." The new, fresh silence now stretched out over the course of several minutes, all the while they never broke eye contact. Patrick was terrified of what Pete might say, of all the possible, morbid truths that might be spoken. But Pete was silent.

"Patrick, I just really want to let you know that I love you," Pete said, the words spilling out of his lips, tumbling clumsily as he stumbled over the words. Pete smiled, and Pete could have sworn that the smile lit up a room. "Pete..." Patrick said. "I want you to know that I love you, too. More than the sun and the moon and the stars." He leaned forward, and their lips connected sweetly.

You are my drug, Patrick thought as he closed his eyes. He thought into the dark, all of those things he had carved in his stomach...they were never true when Pete was around. Pete leaned away, his breath coming in short gasps against Patrick's lips. "I love you a lot," Patrick whispered. He cupped Pete's chin in his hands and pressed his lips against Pete's as he fell into Pete's lap, his knees on either side of Pete waist.

Pete put his hands on Patrick's hips, pulling him closer. There were questions at the back of Patrick's mind-What are we going to do? Where are we going to hide?-but they all fell away. It was just Pete, sitting right there, pulling Patrick closer as he closed his eyes.


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, guys, I promise that somewhere in this story, it will get good. Thanks for reading! Please comment and subscribe to this! Thanks for being so supportive, guys!

As soon as Pete pulled Patrick closer, a gunshot rang through the air. Patrick jumped, pulling away from Pete, his blue eyes wide. Pete jumped to his feet, scanning the house. A hole the size of a bullet was in his door. Pete grabbed Patrick's hand and pulled him to his feet, then yanked him along with him, jogging up the stairs two at a time.

"Where are we going?" Patrick yelled. "Shut up if you want to keep your life!" Pete shouted back. He slammed the door to his room open, and pushed Patrick inside. "Get in the closet, and shut the door." He paused before he went out again, his eyes pained and worried. "Patrick, I don't want you getting hurt. Please hide. Please." With that, he closed the bedroom door.

Patrick locked himself in the closet, breathing in lungfuls of the musty air. He settled himself down into the darkness, keeping his eyes on the door. Pete threw himself down the stairs, grabbing his gun from the storage closet in the hallway. He loaded it, locking a bullet into place. Another gunshot shook him to the bone, and he swallowed hard, looking out from behind the hallway.

He knew who it was. There was no doubt that the Blood Runners were on the other side of the door. The Blood Runners were a gang, and they thought of Pete as Street Lord around here, leader of the most violent gang, the Congress of Ravens. "Hey, ol' buddy," the leader of them, Oliver Sykes said through the door. "What's up?"

Pete slung open the door, his gun at the ready. Andy Biersack glanced at it casually, then looked back up at Pete. "We heard you were hidin' a pretty little thing up here," Matt Kean grinned lazily, leaning against the doorframe, his forearm holding him up. "No," Pete lied firmly. "I'm not hidin' anything up there, Matt."

Oliver growled. "Now, Pete," he said softly, his voice warning. "You know how fond I am of lies." He cocked his head to the side, his brown hair falling over his shoulder. Oliver nudged Pete's stomach, which seemed made of cement, with his gun. "Show us where he is." Pete pushed the gun down, his voice lowering.

"I don't have anyone in here," he said. "You know," Jinxx said, pushing the tip of his knife into Pete's chest. The shirt was ripped, revealing Pete's tanned skin. "how fond he is of lies." Blood bubbled around the tip, and Pete choked, feeling blood gurgling into his throat. "I don't have anyone," he gasped. "I promise-I swear, please, just-"

His breath came in short gasps, and he raised his gun. "Don't make me do anything I might regret," he told them. "Look," Ashley hissed. "You give us the kid, we let you keep your life." Pete weighed his decisions for a minute, looking Christian in the eyes. "Okay," he sighed. "Fine, I'll get him. But only if you stay down here, and leave right after."

They all nodded, though Oliver did it a little hesitantly. Jinxx pulled his knife back, and Pete turned, stalking back up the stairs. He couldn't believe he was about to turn in Patrick to the other gang, who would no doubt torture the answers out of him. Pete swallowed hard as he opened the door to his bedroom. "Patrick?" he whispered.

"It's just me, Pete." He opened the closet door, kneeling down slowly so Patrick could see him. Patrick jumped forward into his arms, and Pete could feel his arm, beating hard and fast against his chest. "Pete, I was so scared, I just..." Patrick trailed off, and Pete realized he was crying. "I was so worried about you. Are they gone now?"

Pete closed his eyes. "Yes," he whispered. He buried his face into the crook of Patrick's neck, pressing a kiss onto his pale, smooth skin. "Patrick, I want you to know that whatever happens, I love you." Patrick pulled away, looking Pete up and down. "What? What do you mean? Pete, what's going to happen."

Pete wiped Patrick's tears away. His own tears poured down Pete's cheek as he choked on sadness. "Pete? Pete, why are you bleeding? Are you hurt?" Patrick touched the blood on Pete's chest, and Pete flinched. "I'm sorry, I just-" "No, Patrick...just...come with me." Pete led Patrick down the stairs, tears still pouring down his face.

"I'm so sorry for what's about to happen, Patrick," he choked. "I love you, I love you, I love you." Pete couldn't say it enough times. He stopped in the middle of the stairs, just before Patrick was able to see the Blood Runners. "Please tell me you love me," he whispered. Patrick turned to face him, and raised himself up on his toes so his lips were pressing into Pete's.

"I love you, Pete," he murmured against Pete's lips. Pete smiled, pulling away. "I love you, too," he said quietly, then led Patrick the rest of the way. As soon as he could, Oliver, the leader of the group, pulled Patrick from Pete. Patrick screamed, struggling against Oliver's hands. Oliver pressed his gun against the small of Patrick's back as Andy tied his hands behind his back.

Patrick was pushed at gunpoint away, and Pete slammed his door, pressing his back against it and slipping to the floor. He curled up, pulling his knees to his chest. He screamed into his knees, crying as hard as his heart allowed. Tears burned his throat, and he gasped for air, all of it escaping his lungs. "I love you, Patrick..."


	10. Chapter 10

The gun was pressed into the small of Patrick's back, forcing him along the cracked sidewalk. He flinched, his stomach burning like a fire. "Keep it movin', pretty thing," Oliver whispered in Patrick's ear. Jinxx pushed him along, and a tear slipped from his eye. Pete betrayed me. He really...he really betrayed me. He gave me up to these savages, Patrick thought bitterly. Then, more desperately, Pete, I love you, I love you no matter what you do. Pete, please come for me. No matter how loud his thoughts got, he was still being pushed and prodded down the narrow street. Suddenly, Ashley screamed, pitching forward and falling onto the ground.

A gun fired, the sound ringing through the air and bouncing off the run down apartment buildings. Smoke billowed from the source, swirling in columns of gray air around them. A girl was standing there, her green eyes fierce. Her black hair fell in bouncing strings of curls to her shoulder, her lips painted a deep red and her fingers long and colored against the trigger of the gun. Oliver scrambled away from Patrick, as did Andy, following suit and leaving Patrick alone, facing the girl. She fired shots at the ground next to the Blood Runner's feet, and they scattered, running into the dense fog ahead of them. Patrick stared, frozen, at the girl.

"Kate," she said, her voice gruff. She reached up and pulled down the top of her shirt. Resting on her collarbone was a heart, ringed with fire. "Member of the Killjoys." Killjoys were almost as dangerous as the Congress of Ravens, Pete's group, and they had an alliance together. Sometimes. Kate released her shirt, and it slid back tightly over her tan skin. "Come with me if you want to live." She spat on the ground and started walking, not looking to see if Patrick was following. Patrick scrambled after her, wanting to see Pete. "I would have let those bastards rip you to shreds, but I'm feeling a little mercy in my heart today." The fog cleared after a mile, and a huge metal storage building sat in the middle of a deserted lot. Kate propped open the door, and as Patrick walked in, tugged the bindings off of his wrists. He rubbed the red marking, wincing a little.

The storage was as empty as the lot outside, with a case of rickety stars almost like a ladder leading up to what looked to be a wide catwalk, with a spray-painted black desk in the middle of it. Sitting at the desk was a girl with blonde locks and brown eyes, her skin pale and lips red. This girl was dressed in all black: a tank top, ankle boots, and leather shorts that barely covered up anything. Her collarbone and the inked tattoo that sat on it were clearly visible, the heart and fire like a kiss upon her chest. The corners of her lips raised only slightly in a smirk as she saw them come in, and she beckoned them forward. "Mistress," Kate said, letting the door slam behind her.

"I have brought someone. A victim of the Blood Runners. No doubt would have tortured him if I let them go any farther." The girl at the desk stood, her eyes shining in the dim light. Patrick noticed that the windows were boarded in, and one chandelier hung gloomily in the middle of the ceiling. The girl walked downstairs slowly, her eyes taking in Patrick's appearance. Patrick shifted uncomfortably, from one foot to the other. "Hm," the girl hummed. "My name is Donna, leader of the Killjoys." She held out her bony hand, and Patrick shook it reluctantly. "I-I'm looking for Pete Wentz?" Patrick asked, his voice shaking. At the name, Donna tensed. "Okay," she said, sniffing indignantly. "I will bring you back to Pete, only because we are good friends. On one condition."

 

Pete leaned against the door, the last of his tears dropping uselessly onto his shirt. He thought of Patrick, and how much he loved him, and he hugged himself, his eyes closed. He began to walk, not knowing where he was going, just walking numbly through his house, trying not to think anymore. It was way too painful. He somehow got to his room, and he went to the closet. It smelled like Patrick in there. Like night lilies and the warmth of Spring. Pete slid his fingers between each shirt, his eyes falling unseeing against them. Without picking out one, he slid his black t shirt off, throwing it to the floor in a balled up pile of fabric. He ran his hand over the tattoo that sat right above his belt buckle, his fingertips like soft cotton against them. Sighing, he tromped back down the stairs, shaking his head. Suddenly, a knock on his door shook him out of his thoughts.

He opened the door, and there stood Patrick, his eyes red, his face pale. His wrists were bleeding, and his shirt was torn. Next to him, Donna stood, smirking that stupid grin of hers. "Here's your little boyfriend, Pete," she told him. Pete stood, gaping at Patrick for a second, before he wrapped his arms around him. Patrick pushed him away, trying to force his eyes away from Pete's bare stomach. "You betrayed me," he whispered, his voice cracking. "Handed me to the enemy." Pete froze, as if he had forgotten all about that. "Oh-I-I did...Patrick, I am so sorry, I-" "I can see I'm not wanted here," Donna said, turning around and walking back down the steps. Pete stared after her for a moment before averting his gaze back to Patrick. "Patrick, I-mmph." Pete was cut off by Patrick pressing his lips against his, and he melted into Patrick's embrace as he threw his arms around Pete's neck.

Pete's hands found Patrick's hips, pulling him closer. "I love you, Pete," Patrick whispered against Pete's lips. "But I don't know if I can't forgive you this easily if this happens again." Pete smiled. "I love you, Patrick." Patrick pulled away then, his blue eyes finding Pete's brown ones. "Pete?" he whispered, his voice shaking. Pete stood frozen, watching Patrick carefully. "If you love me, why'd you let me go? If you loved me...why'd you leave me?" Pete shook his head hard, reaching up and stroking Patrick's face, wiping away a tear that had formed in his eye. "No, no, no, Patrick...I-I didn't mean to. I just...I thought..." He trailed off there, his mouth open slightly. "Thought what?" Patrick asked softly.

Pete let out a sad sigh, letting his own tears fall. "I just thought..." As Pete took a deep breath, Patrick rested his head on his chest, now wrapping his arms around Pete's stomach. "You know," Patrick murmured as Pete pressed a kiss onto the top of his head. "I don't care what you thought." Patrick tilted his head back, so him and Pete were face to face. Pete smiled, carelessly kissing Patrick on the lips. For once, the gang wars were forgotten, the Congress of Ravens long behind them. It was just Patrick. It was just Pete.

Their kisses got more passionate and desperate, Patrick running his hands through Pete's hair and tangling them there, Pete clutching at Patrick's shirt, his fingers slipping under it. Pete found Patrick's bare hips, his skin smooth under Pete's fingertips. He slid his hands forward, gripping onto Patrick's hips and pulling him impossibly closer. Patrick pulled away for just a second, sucking in a breath of air, and then trapping Pete's lips in his again. Pete slipped something out of his pocket then, bringing it up slowly. He opened his eyes, making sure that Patrick was still distracted. "Patrick," he gasped, pulling away for a second. He hid his hand behind Patrick's back.

"Whatever you feel, please do not open your eyes." Patrick looked at him questionly. "Patrick, I'm begging you. Please do not open your eyes. I love you." Pete pushed Patrick against the wall then, pressing his lips into Patrick's. Patrick smiled against his lips, closing his eyes as he kissed back, just as passionately. Pete held up what he had in his hand, the metal glinting in the light. He pressed it to Patrick's temple, clicking a bullet into place. Patrick didn't seem to notice, pressing himself closer to Pete's body. _Patrick, please forgive me_ , Pete begged silently. _I don't want you caught up in this gang stuff. They will hurt you. I don't want them to hurt you. This will save you. Please....please..._ His finger jumped, and the gunshot rang through the air. Patrick gasped, his blue eyes going wide. He stared at Pete for a second, his breathing shallow and slow. Then he collapsed, first to his knees, then falling to his side in a crumpled pile of lost love.


	11. Chapter 11

Pete started running. He didn't know where, he didn't know for how long. He just had to get away. His footsteps pounded against the metal of the train tracks, and tears stung his eyes. He loved Patrick, oh, he loved him so much, but he could not live with himself if Patrick ever got hurt by the enemy. Now he had blood on his hands. And worse, it was Patrick's. 

He had dropped his gun as soon as he pulled the trigger. He had no weapons now, no food, no money. He didn't know what he was going to do, and he didn't know where he was going to go. Maybe he was going to catch a train to nowhere. And that's what he did. Grabbing a hold of the rusty handle, he pulled himself inside the still, silent train, and waited for the roar of the engine before he sat down against the wall, his arms resting on his knees. 

He rested his head on the red metal, his eyes closing. The world passed outside the window in a blur, the trees blending into the darkening sky. Running a hand through his hair, Pete wondered where he was going, what he was going to do when he got there, and if he were ever coming back. He decided that it would be too painful, besides, there was nothing for him in that life.

The train slowed to a stop after a few hours, maybe 12 of on and off sleep, restless worrying, and tears that blurred Pete's vision. He slowly stumbled to his feet, which were now numb from him sitting so long. He walked to the door of the train car, and hopped out, landing on bent knees, his hands hitting the packed dirt and his fingers splayed out on the grass.

He looked up, and found himself at the edge of a sleepy town that had wooden cabins and a few shops, mostly for tourists. A rough, jagged sign read "Welcome to Griffon Hills! Enjoy your stay!" Pete wiped his mouth on his sleeve, which was covered with dirt. He straightened, looking out across the small town. 

A teenager was sitting on the stone steps of a two story library, a book balanced in between her knees. She glanced up at Pete for a second, smiled, then looked back down. Pete started walking, taking a dirt road down the middle of the town. He passed by little scenes that looked like a Christmas movie from the 90's. 

The girl on the library steps, who had dyed silver hair and bright blue eyes, stood. She had on black skinny jeans, boots, and a tight black shirt. She started to walk towards Pete, maintaining eye contact with him. "Hello, Pete Wentz," she said, her voice smooth and sharp as broken glass. Her fingers were long and slim as she touched her waist, her hand slipping under her shirt.

I blinked at her, but soon understood as she pulled it up, revealing her flat, tan stomach. A fiery heart was stretched in ink and needle there, with a ribbon twisting around it, saying "Killjoys." Pete's jaw dropped, and her icy blue eyes were the last thing he saw before he blacked out.

 

Patrick couldn't here anything but ringing in his ears. He sensed a certain silence and emptiness beyond the ringing, one that made it painful. He opened his eyes, and all he could see was red. He blinked it away, taking a deep breath. Pain screamed through every bone in his body, but he forced himself past it. 

Remembering what happened, his fingers touched gingerly on his temple. All the blood was dry, and the bullet hadn't even gone far enough to do any real damage. Patrick managed to strangle himself into a sitting position against the wall, controlling his breathing. Swallowing hard, he closed his eyes and waited for the thoughts to take over. And sure enough, there were there.

You are worthless.

You are stupid.

You are fat.

You are ugly.

You are unloved.

Pete hates you.

He never loved you.

Useless fuck up.

Who would love you?

Patrick started to cry, curling up in his little ball of pain and sadness, thinking about Pete and how much he still loved him. Still loved him after all of this. "Pete..." he whispered.


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, guys, this will have twenty chapters, and then I will move on to book two, which will be 'Battle Scars.' Look forward to that! Thank you for your support!

"Get your hands off of me," Pete growled, shoving the girl off of him. He was tied in a chair in the middle of a dark room, the only light a spotlight that was focused on him. "If you ever want your precious boyfriend back, you will listen to me," she snarled in his ear. "He's dead!" he spat, struggling in his bonds. 

"Oh yeah?" she asked. A large screen came to life in front of him, and Patrick was curled up against his front door, crying. He was sitting in a pool of blood, his hand pressed against the scars on his stomach. Pete watched with his mouth hanging open, his eyes the size of the moon. (*screaming*) The girl turned it off, her mouth twisted in a sick grin.

"Patrick..." Pete whispered. "You want him back?" the girl asked. Pete nodded, swallowing tears. "Then follow me." She untied his wrists and yanked him to his feet. Pete stumbled after her, shaking and sobbing, his arms wrapped around himself. "Oh, stop blubbering," she spat, annoyed, as she rolled her eyes. 

Pete shut his mouth, wiping tears from his eyes. He was led into a back alley. Police sirens wailed in the distance. "Where are we?" he whispered fearfully, glancing around. The girl growled at him, and he held up his hands in surrender. "Okay, okay," he said, blinking. The girl ran a hand through his hair, her hands blue in the moonlight. 

"Okay, we need to hide out here for the rest of the night," she told him, nodding towards the entrance, were a cat was stretching its back legs. Pete watched it for a moment as it slinked away. Then he turned his attention back to the girl. "I'm Isabelle," she said, holding out her hand. "Nice to meet you?" Pete flinched as he shook her hand.

She smiled coldly, then turned away from him. "We may be on different sides of this war, but we have to work together to get through tonight." She settled herself against the wall, looking up at him. "That means you can't try anything, pretty boy." Her voice settled into a snarl, and he nodded, turning his head. The lights of a bakery across the street were on, and Pete could smell the pastries that were displayed in the window. He swallowed hungrily, reminding himself that he hadn't eaten in 3 days. It seemed like so much more. 

In the course of 3 days, he had loved someone, he had given them to the enemy, he had gotten them back, he had shot them in the head, he had ran away, and he had been attacked, and now here he was, crouching in a dark alley in the middle of the night with a girl that looked strangely familiar. He tilted his head as he looked at her, and suddenly noticed who she was.

"You're that girl that I ran into yesterday!" he exclaimed. She looked up at him. "Yeah," she said simply. Then she was silent again. Pete wished she wasn't so closed in, because he needed answers from her, and he needed answers now. "I'm sorry I spilled your coffee," he said quietly. Her eyes flicked up to his and he saw the ghost of a smile on her lips. Then she shook her head and looked back at the ground.

"Honestly, it sucked. Luke can't make a latte worth a lick." Pete had never heard that expression before, but still he laughed, a broken, relieved laugh that only come out of ignoring the wars going on around you, a laugh only laughed by a crazy man. Isabelle laughed, too, but hers was more of a schoolgirl giggle, and that made Pete laugh harder.

Isabelle curled up on the floor, shaking silently from laughter. "I have no idea why we're laughing," she choked. "Me either," Pete breathed, shaking his head. "I guess the ringing in our eyes made us insane." She suddenly stopped laughing, and rolled onto her back, staring up at the stars. Pete sat down silently next to her, gazing at the dark blue sky.

"You hear it, too," she whispered. "Hear what?" Pete asked, looked over at her. "The ringing in your ears. You hear it, too." He blinked, then nodded. "I guess I do," he said quietly. She took a deep, shuddering breath. "I'm so tired," she said. "Go to sleep," Pete said. "I'm right here." And together, they drifted off into sleep.

...

When Pete woke up, the sun was coming up, and it was brightening outside. "Isabelle," he whispered, shaking her slightly. "Hm?" She woke up with a snore, blinking her eyes open as she breathed deeply through her nose. "We should get going." The same cat from last night was curled on an empty cardboard box, purring lightly.

Isabelle got to her feet and stumbled forward a few steps before straightening up and coughing, rubbing the sleep from her eyes. Pete followed her as she crept out of the alley, ducking behind buildings and cars, trying to avoid people's notice. Pete rubbed the red markings on his wrists, flinching as a fiery pain shot through his arm.

"Okay, now we just need to take a train. Come on." She pushed herself into a sprint and Pete followed, chasing her across the tracks. They both hopped onto the moving train, Isabelle with practiced ease, and Pete stumbling and tripping onto the metal platform. Pete wondered how many times Isabelle had run away from home.

"It's going to take a while." She took out a pack of cards. "Wanna play Kips?" she asked. "What's that?" Pete asked, moving forward as she started shuffling the cards. "Okay, we both get four cards at the beginning. We...we actually need four people to play. Ugh. Goldfish?" she suggested weakly. Pete laughed, nodding. "Sure. Goldfish."

So they played goldfish into the gathering dark as the train moved along, past forests and ponds, cities and towns. And all the time, Pete could only think about Patrick.


	13. Chapter 13

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I apologize, again, in advanced.

"Here we are," Isabelle whispered, gathering her cards as the train slowed to a stop. Pete stood up and pulled her to her feet. She had told him stories of her and her friends, of them laughing and playing and screaming when their teachers yelled at them for acting up. Pete thought that she was an interesting girl with an interesting life.

Gravel crunched under their sneakers as they stumbled out of the train car, shaking sleep and numbness out of their legs. They made the trek together, slowly towards Pete's house. It was bright in the day, and they walked in silence all through the day, only talking as they stood in front of Pete's door. There were no sounds on the other side of the door.

"Do you think he hates me now?" Pete whispered. Isabelle shook her head. "He'll love you no matter what. Maybe he won't forgive you for a while, but you did try to kill him, so he has very valid reasons to hold a grudge, you know." Pete nodded, then slowly knocked on the door. There was the sound of Patrick's breath catching, then a slam, a crash of glass against the wall. 

"W-Who is it?" he breathed against the door. "Patrick...it's Pete? I...I hope you don't hate me now, you know, for trying to kill you...Iloveyou..." The door flew open, and Pete gasped. Patrick was holding the gun under his chin, his finger shaking on the trigger. "Do it right," he whispered harshly.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> OOPS SORRY IT WAS SO SHORT


	14. Chapter 14

"PATRICK NO!" Pete screamed, lunging forward and wresting the gun from Patrick's hand. Patrick fought back surprisingly fierce for someone who had just had their heart broken. "Let me go!" Patrick yelled. "Guys, stop it!" Isabelle shouted, trying to reach for the gun. Her small hands slipped between their hands.

Suddenly, the gun went off, and when Patrick froze, Pete's eyes flicked up and down Patrick to look for the wound, but it wasn't on him. Horror ran down Pete's spine as he forced himself to turn around. Isabelle's eyes were wide, her mouth open. A wide gaping, bleeding wound was in the center of her stomach.

"Isabelle," Pete whispered, and both he and Patrick dropped the gun. "Isabelle," Pete cried out again, running forward and catching her as she fell. Blood gurgled out of her stomach. "Pete," she gasped, choking. Her small hand was balled in a fist in his shirt, her eyes searching his for any hope that she might live.

"I don't want to die," she gasped. Her teeth were stained red with blood, her mouth hanging open. "I know, I know," Pete whispered, but knowing he couldn't do anything, watched as her eyes glazed over, staring a million miles away. He swallowed hard, crying out as he lowered Isabelle softly to the ground.

He turned around, and almost ran into Patrick. He was crying harder than Pete, shaking his head fiercely. "I didn't-didn't mean to-" "Patrick," Pete said, cupping his chin in his hands. "Patrick, it's okay. I promise. We'll be okay. Safe and sound." He wrapped the shaking Patrick in a hug, burying his face in Patrick's neck. 

Patrick seemed to calm down against him, stepping forward to press himself closer. "I love you, Pete," he mumbled against Pete's neck. "After all of this I still love you. Please don't ever leave me again." Pete shook his head. "I won't, I promise. Patrick, I love you. So much. And I promise that we will face this together. All of it. I swear."

Patrick was crying now, sobbing into Pete's chest. "I love you, Pete..." Pete cuddled him closer until thunder rumbled in the distance. He tried to pull away, but Patrick wouldn't let go. "Patrick-" "Sh." He looked at Patrick's face, which was almost gray in the dark of the storm. A raindrop fell on his cheek, rolling down and reflecting his pale skin in the whole drop. 

The air was cold, wind whipping Patrick's hair back as more raindrops fell. It was soon raining full on, making it hard to see Patrick's face. Still, Pete leaned forward. Patrick's lips tasted like salt and honey, soft and fitting against Pete's perfectly. Pete suddenly pushed Patrick outward and spun him. Patrick threw his head back and laughed, dancing back to Pete. He kissed his cheek before pulling him into a dance.

So they danced together in the rain, laughing and crying and everything in between, until at one point, Patrick stumbled. Pete caught him as he yawned and slumped against Pete's chest. "My little birdie feeling sleepy?" Pete smirked. Patrick nodded. "Come on," Pete told him. They ran inside into the warmth of the house, and Pete gave him dry clothes to change into. 

Patrick came out of the bathroom seconds later in his outfit, a loose shirt and cotton pajama pants. Pete grinned at the sight, shaking his head and rolling his eyes. "Okay, birdie," he said. "Here's the bed." Patrick climbed sleepily undercovers as Pete changed into his pajamas. Suddenly, the cover was lifted. Patrick tensed until he felt Pete's arms wrapping around his back, pulling him closer. The cover settled around them as they faced each other. Pete had cotton pants on, but his chest was bare, and Patrick smiled at this. 

"Goodnight, birdie," Pete whispered softly, leaning forward to kiss Patrick's nose. "Goodnight, princess," Patrick replied. He snuggled into Pete's chest, kissing his smooth stomach. "Patrick?" Pete said suddenly. "Yeah?" Pete ran his hand through Patrick's hair, then touched his cheek gently. "I love you, Patrick," he said.

Patrick looked up, his green eyes shining. He smiled. "I love you, too, Pete." Patrick kissed Pete's neck gently as he trailed a finger down his stomach. "I love you so much. But..." Pete's eyes flashed with a concern. "What?" he asked, taking Patrick's hand into his. "But what, Patrick?" Patrick pressed himself closer, resting his head against Pete's chest.

"But I'm really tired, Pete," Patrick mumbled. He brought both his and Pete's hand to his mouth, curling up like a child and burrowing under the covers, almost sinking into the mattress. Pete laughed, curling himself around Patrick. "Don't worry, I'm here for you," he said. "Go to sleep. It'll be okay."

...

Pete woke up to something hitting his chest. Patrick was squirming next to him, thrashing in the covers. "No, please, stop!" he begged someone. "PATRICK!" Pete yelled, shaking him. Patrick woke up with a scream, and Pete pulled him close to him. "Sh, Patrick, it's okay. I'm right here, okay? I'm right here." Patrick was shaking in Pete's arms.

"Pete," he gasped, curling up against his chest again. "Patrick, I promise you it'll be okay. Sh, I'm right here." With every encouraging word, he kissed Patrick's face, his neck, his nose, his hand, and finally, his lips. "Patrick, sh, I'm right here." It was four thirty in the morning, and the storm outside was still raging against the window, but Pete pulled Patrick close, telling him it was okay. 

Patrick eventually calmed down, his shaking dying down to just shivers now and then. Pete pulled the cover tighter around them, wiping away Patrick's tears. Patrick closed his eyes, his head resting against Pete's chest. "I love you, Pete," he whispered. "I love you, too, Patrick. And I will never, ever leave you. I will always be here for you. It'll be okay." 

Patrick sniffs, but he is okay now. Pete knew that as he looked up into Pete's eyes, smiling. He squirmed into Pete's arms and leaned upward as Pete leaned down, their lips connecting sweetly.


	15. Chapter 15

Patrick woke up to Pete sitting on his lap, his knees on either side of his hips. "Wakey wakey," Pete smiled. Patrick groaned and tried to roll over, but Pete had trapped him. "Eggs and bakey," Pete chanted. "Pete, get off of me," Patrick said. He sat up, and Pete was now sitting on his knees. He leaned forward and pecked Patrick's lips before bouncing away.

"Pete," Patrick groaned. He stuck out his arms as Pete turned around. "Help me up." Pete chuckled and pulled Patrick to his feet. Patrick kissed Pete's collar bone, grinning when Pete shivered lightly. "I love you," he said. "Love you, too," Pete said. They walked down the stairs together, Patrick stumbling sleepily.

"Hey, I'll make you some coffee." Pete patted his shoulder and Patrick walked into the living room. Pete made his coffee in the kitchen, wondering how many spoonfuls of sugar he should put in. He decided on three, the perfect amount, and then turned to get the creamer out.

...

In the living room, Patrick pulled out his phone. "Hey, Luke," he said. Luke was his younger brother, and he had been in charge of looking after him this weekend. "Um....I'm sorry I've been gone for a while. I'm at someone's house. Something happened and-yes, Luke..." He bit his lip as Luke asked him questions- "Does this have to do with that secret 'place' you were going to?" "When will you be back?" "Are you visiting Sarah?" 

Sarah was their older sister. "No, I'm not. Look, I'll be home in a few hours." Patrick sighed. "See you then, Luke." He hung up his phone and walked into the kitchen. Seeing Pete still turned around, he wrapped his arms around him from behind. "Hey," he muttered, kissing Pete's back. Pete smiled, twisting around. 

"Hey, Patrick." He smoothed Patrick's hair down and leaned to kiss him. "I have to go-like, right now. Thanks for the coffee." He took a sip, then flinched. "Way too sweet, though." Pete mentally punched himself. Patrick put the coffee cup down and kissed Pete on the cheek. "Thank you for everything. Bye!" 

And he was out the door.

...

When Patrick got to his house, Luke was sitting on the couch playing the Xbox. He glanced up at Patrick, then looked back at his game. "Where were you?" he demanded, though his face was soft. "Um...I already told you. At someone's house," Patrick replied, thanking God that Luke couldn't see his face. His red, guilty, lying face. 

"Who's house, though?" Luke asked. "No one, it's not important," Patrick mumbled, going to his room to change into some of his clothes. He heard the sound of his game being paused. "If it was your girlfriend or something you can tell me." Luke voice was closer now. He was outside the door. Patrick bit his lip, and then yanked the door open. "Okay, Luke, I will tell you this, but you can not, CAN NOT, FOR THE LOVE OF GOD," Patrick made sure that Luke was listening. Then he flinched. 

"Okay, promise, swear to God, that you won't tell mom?" Patrick squeaked finally. Luke looked suspicious, but he nodded. "Okay," he said. "Cross my heart." Patrick looked at the ground. "Okay, I was at my boyfriend's house." Luke's jaw dropped. "Boyfriend? Oh, my God, mom is going to KILL you!" he exclaimed. 

Patrick glared at him. "She would, if someone told. Which, someone won't, because said person promised, swore to God, and crossed his fuckin' heart that he wouldn't tell mom." Luke sighed, leaning against the door frame. "Fine. I won't tell her." Patrick rolled his eyes in relief, and then: "If." Patrick's eyes widened. "If what, you jackass?" he asked. 

Luke raised an eyebrow. "I won't tell her, IF....if I get to meet him before she comes home." He winked slyly. "What's his name, cumslut?" Patrick chuckled warningly. "His name is Pete, and mine is Patrick. Call me that stupid name again, and I'll shoot you." Luke held his hands up in surrender. "Okay, okay," he muttered under his breath. "And you'll get to meet him tomorrow." Luke nodded, and started to leave, when he stopped, walking backwards a few steps and looking at Patrick. 

"And just so you know, cumslut," he started. Patrick growled at him. "I'm totally cool with you being gay, or bi, or whatever you are. I'm totally okay with you having a boyfriend..." he trailed off, glancing away for a moment. "You can...you don't have to worry about me insulting you or anything about it. I'm cool about it. The real person you need to worry about is mom." He clapped his older brother on the shoulder, gave him a quick, shy grin, and then moved back into the living room. Patrick stared after him for a while before he smiled, shaking his head, and closed the door again. 

...

That night, Pete settled in front of his T.V, about to play video games. It was midnight, but he had a pizza and was about to pull an all nighter. He had his coffee machine on just in case. Suddenly, his phone started ringing. He groaned, picking it up. Seeing it was Patrick, he clicked the green button, and was immediately met with Patrick crying.

"Patrick, Patrick what's wrong?" he asked worriedly. "Pete-Pete please help me," Patrick sobbed on the other end, his voice shaking. "What?" Pete grabbed his car keys and ran out the door. "Patrick, what happened?" Suddenly, a sharp gasp made Pete's heart jump. "Pete..." Patrick's voice was a whimper now. 

His breathing became labored, and Pete's heart skipped two beats. "Patrick, no, Patrick, please stay with me!" he cried out. Suddenly, there was a crash, and there was silence. There was a few minutes of static, then an unfamiliar voice screaming. "Who is this?" the voice begged. "My name is Pete-" he heard a cut of static as the boy on the other end gasped. 

"This is Luke, Patrick's younger brother, please come quick. I have to go, please-please hurry." The line went dead as Pete stopped in front of Patrick's house. He slammed his car door open, and heard sirens wailing in the distance. His eyes widened as he saw the flashing red and white, and he scrambled up the steps, yanking the door open. 

"Patrick! Luke!" he yelled. "In here!" the voice, Luke, shouted. Pete followed the sound of it, and soon arrived up the stairs. A long hallway led down a dark path. All the doors were closed except for one, and a strangled sort of a cry seemed to be coming from it. Pete fumbled for a light switch on the wall, and his stumbling fingers soon found it. 

He pushed it up, and light flooded into the dark hallway. Pete ran down the hallway, stopping and slinging himself into the open door. It was a bathroom. The light was off, the mirror smashed into a million pieces. Blood pooling on the floor, where Patrick's phone sat. Patrick himself lay like a corpse in the bath tub, a razor in his hand, his arm slung over the edge of the red stained tub. He was shirtless, his shirt discarded on the floor. 

His bare stomach was bleeding, his eyes closed. His other arm was resting on his leg. His hair was messed up, his face completely pale. The paramedics rushed into the room, but all Pete could hear was his own heart, pounding against his ear drums.


	16. Chapter 16

Patrick's nightmare from a few chapters ago:

"Here, Pete," I whispered, leaning up to kiss him gently. He smiled, wrapping his arms around my waist. "One second, Pat," he said, kissing my nose softly. "Why does your nose taste like peanut butter?" he asked. I laughed, pushing him away from me. "That's not important." He raised an eyebrow, but I just shoved my paper at him. "Read it."

He sat down on the bed, pulling me into his lap as he read the poem I had written for him. "This is beautiful, Patrick," he said. "Just like you." He tilted his head back and kissed my jaw, making me blush as I looked down, my eyes closed. "Keep writing poems for me, okay? I love them." He slid me off his lap and back onto the bed next to him. "And I love you more."

He got up, walking over to the dresser. Sliding open one of the compartments, he put the poem in with the others I had written him. I grinned at him as he turned around. "I love you, too, Pete," I said. "But come on, I'm tired. Let's go to sleep." I burrowed under his covers suddenly, hiding. "Woah!" he yelled. "Where did Patrick go?" I giggled, rolling my eyes. 

"Not fair!" he whined, and I felt the bed shift as he jumped onto it. "Totally not fair, Patrick! You got a head start." I felt the cover being lifted. "Patrick? Where are you?" I squealed, crawling out and hiding behind the pillows. I saw his brown eyes peek out from beneath the covers. "Oh, Paaatrick," he whispered slyly, smirking as he saw me. "Give me a kiss," he said.

I smiled, clutching one of the pillows to my chest. "Catch me if can," I said. I threw the pillow and started running. I tripped and stumbled down the stairs, giggling like a madman. "Patrick!" I heard my name behind me and I screamed. Arms wrapped around me and pulled me down to the couch. I was laying on top of Pete, my chest against his.

"Did you have fun?" he asked me, smiling. I buried my face in his neck, sighing sleepily. "Yeah, but now I'm tired." I managed to slide between Pete and the couch, and he rolled over, so we were still facing each other. "Go to sleep," he chuckled, kissing me softly on the forehead. I sniffed, curling into his chest. "Goodnight," he said. "Goodnight," I whispered.

I woke up to Pete kissing me softly. "Good morning, Sleeping Beauty," he said. "Good morning," I smiled. He ran a hand through my hair. "Come on," he said, pulling me from the couch. "I know, Patrick, that you love those poems that you wrote from me." I nodded as he led me up the stairs. He pulled a lighter from his pocket. 

I glanced at it, but soon forgot as he kissed me. He led me into his room and pulled all the poems out that I ever written for him. He put the lighter down and held the poems in front of me. "And here is what I think of them-and you," he said. Very slowly, he tore the papers down the middle. "Pete! I screamed. "Stop!" 

He threw them to the ground, then picked up the lighter. His finger jumped, and fire ignited from the small container. "I hate you, Patrick." He set fire to a blank piece of paper sitting on the dresser, then threw it onto the other poems. Immediately, smoke and ashes filled the room, fire roaring from the pile of broken poems on the floor. I whimpered and cried out, my hands covering my mouth.

"Get in the fire," Pete said. "What?" I exclaimed. "Get in the FIRE!" He pushed me, and I stumbled. "No! Please! Stop!" I begged him. The edge of my shirt caught on fire, pain exploding through me. "Patrick? Patrick, wake up!" 

XXXPresentXXX

Pete waited inside his living room with Luke, pacing. They had been forced to leave, and Pete knew that Patrick wouldn't like it if he allowed Luke to stay home alone, so he had decided to bring him here. "Hey, hey, it'll be okay, calm down, chill," Luke said. 

Pete shook his head, sighing as he settled onto the couch. Luke was perched on the arm of the couch. He pulled out a box of cigarettes and flipped it open, tugging one out. Setting the tail end of it on fire, his eyes flicked over to Pete, who was watching him with surprised brown eyes, craving the feel of a cigarette between his lips

"Want one?" Luke asked him, waving the box. Pete knew that Patrick hated cigarettes, and he wondered how he had ever let Luke use them. "No, thank you," Pete said. Luke blew smoke out between his lips, and shrugged. "Your loss." More smoke. Finally, Pete gave in. "Give me one," he hissed. Luke smiled and passed one to him with the lighter. 

Pete breathed in the smoke, closing his eyes before letting it out slowly through clenched teeth. He ran a hand through his hair. "You look so hot with a cigarette between your teeth," Luke murmured. "What?" Pete asked. "You look so hot," Luke repeated, his voice changing into a low growl. "Forget Patrick." 

Pete's eyes widened as Luke sat in his lap, facing him. He trapped Pete's lips in a kiss, and suddenly, Pete didn't care. His hands dragged Luke closer, kissing him fiercer, more desperate. Their kisses sunk into broken, gasping breaths as Pete bit Luke's neck, drawing a moan from his mouth. Luke's hands fell against the back of Pete's shirt, pulling it down slightly. Pete pushed Luke against the wall, his hands tangled in Luke's hair. 

They both pulled away, staring at each other for a while. "This shall never be spoken of again," Pete whispered. Luke just nodded, his fingers hooking onto the belt loops of Pete's jeans and pulling them down. Pete smiled, and his lips crashed against Luke's again.


	17. Chapter 17

The little white truck, which Sarah was in right now, was one that held many, many memories. Everyone in the family had refused to sell it or buy a new one, even when it had gotten dented and bruised. That's why it coughed and shuddered its way across the hospital parking lot as Sarah went to go see Patrick. 

The little white truck, in which Sarah and Patrick's grandpa had driven, when he went to the gym and to church when the bell rung. The little white truck that Sarah's mom had climbed into when she was little, throwing her book bag in the back. The little white truck that Sarah's daughter's chubby hands had grabbed at, her fingers clutching at the dirty seats. 

The little white truck that Sarah had driven Patrick to school in when he was little, where he had scrambled in after the bell rang for dismissal, where Patrick had laughed and cried and everything in between, where they had sang to the county songs that their grandpa had played on the radio, when they had turned it up and drank tea and ate mints that were in the black cup holder below the radio, where they had banged their hands on the brown, dusty dashboard, using them as drums. 

As Sarah climbed out of the car, she smiled to herself, shaking her head and making her brown hair fall over her eyes. She had, of course, never forgotten Patrick's favorite song when he was little. It was Drift Away by Uncle Cracker, the one that he bounced into the car for, the one he had begged Sarah to play, had rocked out to, when he was four, five, and six.

She could still remember the way he sung it, his little voice smooth and loud, how he would laugh afterward. As she walked inside, she saw Pete and Luke waiting together. Ignoring Pete, she ran to Luke. "Is he okay?" she asked. Luke stood up, his eyes worried. "He was asleep when we went in there. You can go in now, we'll give you two some private time." 

Sarah could feel tears in her eyes, but she smiled, nodding. "Thanks, Luke." She gave him a quick peck on the cheek before she turned around and tried to walk bravely through the white doors into the Psychiatric Ward. A nurse looked up from the desk. "Um-Patrick S-Stump?" she asked. The nurse glanced at her papers, then flinched. "Ma'am, I'm so sorry," she whispered. Sarah smiled sadly. "It's okay. I just want to see him, make sure he's okay now." The nurse nodded and gave directions to his room. (I don't know if this actually happens)

"Thank you," Sarah smiled before moving on. She opened the door softly to Patrick's room. He was sitting up, his heart monitor beeping gently behind him. He looked up from the sheets and smiled at her. "Hey, Sarah," he said. She ran towards him and trapped him in a hug. He didn't pull away or groan or tell her to stop.

He hugged her tighter.

Suddenly, the door opened again, and footsteps were heard walking towards them. Sarah turned around, and Luke and Pete were standing there awkwardly. Luke waved slightly. "Okay, okay, but who is THIS?" She pointed at Pete, and Patrick smiled. "Sarah, I would really like you to meet Pete," he whispered. 

Pete stepped towards the bed, hugging Patrick tightly. As they pulled away, Luke stifled a little laugh. "Pete Wentz, my b-boyfriend..." He stammered a little at Sarah's shocked face, and grinned sheepishly at her as she stared. "Boyfriend?" she repeated, her mouth hanging open, her eyes wide. "Yeah..." 

Suddenly, she grinned. "Aww," she cooed. "Boyfriend!" Her voice was an excited squeak this time, and she almost swooned. "That is the most adorable thing I have ever, ever, in my entire life, heard!!" She spun towards Luke. "Did you know about this?" she demanded. Luke nodded, allowing himself a little grin just as Sarah had moments before.

Pete leaned down and pressed his lips against Patrick's nose with a soft, loving care and touched his jaw softly, the thumb of his other hand rubbing Patrick's upper lip gently. "I love you, Patrick," he whispered. Sarah's hands were clasped at her heart, her eyes wide and blinking as she watched the scene with a sort of loving awe, and Luke could have sworn he saw tears in her eyes.

"That is so freaking cute," she declared, but Pete and Patrick would not break away from their trance. Pete rested his forehead against Patrick's and cupped his chin in his hand, tilting it up so their lips could connect sweetly, and Patrick's hands scrambled to find Pete's chest, then hooked around his neck as he pulled himself up, diving deeper into the kiss. 

Luke flinched and turned away, guilt flooding his every thought. Though Pete didn't seem to be disturbed by it, it hit Luke in the chest, making it hard to breathe. He wanted to apologize to Patrick and tell him everything, everything that he had done, but he kept quiet. Soon, he slipped out the door, just as Patrick and Pete pulled away, Pete giving Patrick one more kiss on the nose. 

"Luke?" Sarah asked. "Luke? Wait-where did Luke go? I mean-really, he was just here a few minutes ago..." Pete tensed, and Patrick could feel it under his fingers as they fell back into his lap. "What, Pete?" he asked. "What do you know? What happened?" Pete shook his head, smiling softly. "Nothing, Patrick," he lied. "Nothing."


	18. Chapter 18

"Hey, Brendon," Dallon whispered, shaking Brendon awake softly. Brendon rolled over and opened his eyes, looking at Dallon. "Hey," he smiled, kissing his nose softly. "Did you get a good night's sleep?" Dallon asked quietly. Brendon hummed and shook his head,curling up. "Dallon, let me sleep," he said.

Dallon laughed and shook him again. "Come on, Brendon," he said. Brendon sat up, yawning loudly. Dallon rolled out of the bed, following Brendon into the kitchen. "I love you," Dallon said, jumping forward and wrapping his arms around Brendon's waist. He lifted Brendon up into the air, shaking him around a little.

Brendon screamed and tried to push Dallon's hands off. Dallon finally released him and spun him around. He leaned down and kissed him,fitting his lips against Brendon's. Brendon threw his arms around Dallon's neck as Brendon placed his hands on Brendon's hips,pulling him closer to his body, swaying slowly to the rhythm of love.

"I love you," Brendon murmured against Dallon's lips, then tilted his head, ducking his head under Dallon's chin as he pressed a kiss to his jaw line. Dallon shivered very slightly, encouraging Brendon,who trailed his kisses down to the base of Dallon's neck, making him moan. Another kiss against Dallon's collarbone and then Brendon was still for a while, his palms pressed against Dallon's bare chest.

Brendon's lips lingered against his collarbone, before he rested his head against the base of Dallon's neck, sighing. "Are you still tired?" Dallon asked, looking down at him. "Yes," he said,wrapping his arms around Dallon's stomach. "I am." Dallon laughed, forcing his hips side to side in a little dance.

His hands found Brendon's hand, running through the thick blackness a little before he tangled his long fingers into it, tugging him up fora kiss. "Love you," he said. Brendon gazed up at him, his eyes sparkling in the light. "Dallon..." he whispered. He paused for a second, then smiled. "I'm hungry." Dallon rolled his eyes.

"Breakfast.Come on." So they ate together in front of the T.V: bacon, eggs,strawberries, and French toast, both without shirts. "I wonder what happened to Pete and Joe," Dallon said thoughtfully. After they had run off, they had never seen them again, meaning no meetings had been held.

If he were to be honest, the way Joe had stormed out had scared him half to death.

Joe stepped out into the sanctuary, and immediately let out a string of curses, punching the wall. The others flooded out, looking around with a wild awe. "He left! THEY left!" Joe screamed. "I cannot believe-" Frank slammed his hand into the wall. "Joe, you're not making it any better!" he yelled.

"Neither of you are!" Tyler said, stepping in, Josh right behind him. "All of you, shut up!" Brendon yelled. "Look, we wait this out, okay?We wait it out. Pete will be back. Joe? Joe-what are you-" "Shut up, you asshole, okay?" Joe said fiercely as he shoved a gun intohis back pocket. "Joe, you know what Pete said..." "I don't care what that traitor said. Look, they're both going down. If it's the last thing I do."

With that, Joe was gone, the door slamming behind him

"I wonder what happened, too. I mean...do you think they're dead, or-"A gunshot cut through the air, making Dallon jump. "Brendon," he said. "Brendon, Brendon, go to our room now and hide in the closet,okay?" Brendon was hesitant, but he nodded, running up the stairs.Dallon creeped into the opening room, looking through the window.

Andy Biersack was standing right there with Jinxx, a gun smoking in Andy's hand. "What the hell do you two think you're doing?" Dallon whisper-yelled. Andy smiled, shaking his head. "Oh, I don't know.Starting another gang rivalry?" He tilted his head to the side,smirking slightly. "And we hear you have a pretty little thing up there. Hey, look."

Dallon felt the cold metal of the gun forcing his chin up, and his breath caught, but he kept his eyes focused on Andy. "We need that pretty little thing. We could use him as a prisoner of war." Dallon shook his head. "I don't think so." Andy shrugged. "Fine. We warned you." He held the gun to Dallon's head, but he didn't flinch.Suddenly, a loud gunshot rang throughout the house, and Dallon crumpled to his knees.

Blood gurgled in his throat as he fell on his side, but he looked up at Andy, his eyes burning with an angry fire. "You mess with my Brendon, the one I love more than anything, and I will haunt you, for the rest of your fucking life and you will never escape me, I will always be right there by your side, torturing you every day in your goddamn life. And that is a promise that I make with my final breath."

Dallon coughed one more time before laying still. Andy and Jinxx glanced at each other, and then bolted from the house, the gun stuffed in the front pocket of Jinxx's jeans. "Dallon!" Brendon screamed, running down the stairs. He stopped, frozen, as he saw what had happened. "No,"he whispered. "NO!" He ran out the back door, dodging people in the streets and crying.

"This shouldn't be happening, this shouldn't be happening..." He threw himself into a back alley, tripping and stumbling to the back.Shaking, he took out his phone and called Pete. "Ay, Brendon," he said. "Pete-Dallon, he's-and then-" "Woah! Chill, chill,Brendon. Take a deep breath. Now tell me." Brendon took a labored breath and then closed his eyes.

"Dallon is dead. He was shot by the Bloodrunners, I think." Pete cursed under his breath. "Brendon, I'm going to tell you where I am, and then you will come here. Immediately."

...

Brendon was sitting in a hospital chair in front of Patrick's bed a few minutes later, explaining what happened. "And then I came downstairs, and he was..." His voice cracked and he looked down.Patrick's eyes widened. "D-Dead?" He whispered. "By the same people who took me away?" He took a sharp, pained breath.

"No, Patrick, calm down." Pete's voice was cold and hard. Luke and Sarah had long since left. "Okay, first we need to show those stupid Bloodrunners who's boss because they think that they're the ones who run this show." He cracked his knuckles, his brown eyes glinting dangerously.

"And second, we need to comfort Brendon. Okay, maybe that's first, because nobody,and when I say nobody, I mean nobody, messes with the Congress of Ravens." He looked at Brendon. "Got it?" Brendon smiled through his tears, nodding. "I want to help!" Patrick said, trying to sit up.

He flinched, crying out, and sat back, his hand on his stomach. "No,Patrick," Pete said as a nurse walked in. "You have to stay here and you have to heal up, okay?" The nurse smiled at them. "Yes,Mr. Stump. You must stay here." Pete took Patrick's hand in his,bringing it to his lips and kissing it softly. Patrick smiled sadly,nodding. "Okay," he whispered. "I understand.

The nurse left the room, and Pete kissed him softly on the nose, before standing up and starting to pace. "I mean, we just have to find away to do this with the rest of the gang. It'll be hard without you,Pat, but we just have to," Pete said. Patrick feverishly felt under his shirt for the bandage around his stomach.

"Yeah,"he said. Both he and Brendon looked at the paving Pete, and then they looked at each other. And they smiled. Pete stopped, turning around."What?" he said. "What are you guys smiling at? This is no laughing matter!" Patrick sighed. "Yeah, Pete," he said. "I don't believe this for a second." Pete's eyebrows furrowed.

"What?What do you mean?" he asked. Brendon raised an eyebrow at him, and Pete just had to smile. "Yeah, Patrick," he said. "I'm breaking you out of this hospital."


	19. Chapter 19

Pete smiled at all the passing doctors, nodding to the nurses, running his hand through his hair impatiently. He bounced his knee, waiting for the signal. Brendon was crouched behind a green plant set next to the waiting chairs. He made eye contact with Pete, and gave him a thumbs up, grinning his toothy grin.

Pete shoot up from his chair, catching the attention of a few people in the waiting area. He smiled apologetically. "Sorry," he said. He tried his best to act cool as he rounded the corner into Patrick's ward, nodding at the nurse firmly before opening the door to Patrick's room. Patrick's eyes were closed, though his eyelids fluttered in anticipation. His hands were clutched into impatient fists at his side, his legs moving restlessly.

"Hey," Pete whispered. "Code blue." Patrick's eyes shot open, then blinked a few times, adjusting to the bright lights. Pete could hear the crackling static of his communicator from his pocket, and he yanked it out. "Yes?" he hissed into it. Brendon's voice came from the other side, hushed into a silence. "Code purple."

Code purple. Code purple meant that Sarah was coming. "Okay, got you, bro. Sign out." I moved to the window, sliding down the wall and rolling under a desk. "Pete?" Pete heard Patrick cry out. "Where'd you go?" Pete peeked out. "Sh, Patrick, sh, your sister is coming and I don't want her to see me right here, okay?"

Patrick nodded and then made his eyes flutter close again, just as Sarah opened the door. "Hey, Patrick? Are you awake?" Pete saw Patrick's hand shaking, clenched around the covers, and he willed it to be still. Patrick's eyes fluttered, but stayed close. He tried to even out his breathing, but his chest was rising way too fast for him to be just sleeping peacefully.

Pete could hear his breath, rattling against the bottom of the cart. He tried to calm down, but Sarah blinked suspiciously. "Um, okay...I hope you sleep peacefully. Love you," she said. She kissed the tips of her fingers and then pressed it to Patrick's forehead, then slowly walked out the room. "Code purple over," Brendon's voice crackled through. 

"Patrick, get out of bed. Now. Hurry." Patrick scrambled out of his bed, dressed in a t shirt and jeans. "Go, hurry, to the window." Patrick nodded, skittering across the floor as Pete scooted from under the desk and rolled to his feet. The window flung open under Patrick's pale hands, and he climbed onto the sill.

Pete reached into his pocket and dragged a rope out. "Pete," Patrick whimpered. Pete, seeing the fear in Patrick's eyes, hopped onto the sill and slid out onto the ledge, closing the window behind him. "Patrick, are you scared of heights." Closing his eyes and biting his lip, Patrick nodded slowly. "It'll be okay," Pete whispered, wrapping his hands around Patrick. "I won't let anything happen to you." 

The rope that Patrick had clenched in his hands, so hard that his knuckles were white. "Hold onto this, and we'll be okay." Patrick nodded and held on, his hands shaking around the thick braided fabric. "I'm coming into the room. Jump Patrick....now!" Patrick heard this and threw himself off the ledge. Pete flinched, but Patrick was silent, no screaming or crying, though his stomach was churning as badly as Pete's was. 

Brendon pushed the window open and climbed out, slamming it behind him. "I got it. Go," he told Pete. Pete nodded and grabbed the rope, hanging on for dear life as he fell through the open air. He landed on his ass, able to pull myself up so it was soft. Patrick was sitting on the on the sidewalk, brushing off his knees. The rope was pulled up swiftly by Brendon.

"Are you okay?" Pete asked softly. Patrick nodded shakily, his eyes wide and fearful. "Pete, I was so scared. Please..." He stood up, running into Pete, his head on Pete's chest, his arms around Pete's waist. Pete stumbled back a bit, then frowned, wrapping his arms around Patrick. "It's okay." He tilted Patrick's head up, kissing his nose softly. "It's going to be okay." Patrick nodded softly, a few tears spilling down his cheeks.

"I'm going to be okay," Patrick whispered, burying his head in Pete's chest again. Pete rested his head on Patrick's little fuzzy head, smiling. "Now let's go, and show those Bloodrunner's who's boss around this city." Patrick giggled, nodding. He stood on his tip toes to kiss Pete's lips. "Yeah," he whispered, looking into Pete's soft brown eyes. "Let's show them who's boss."

Together they walked down the pathway to the church, the one that was familiar to Pete, the one that gave Patrick nightmares. But it was okay, because this time, Patrick's hand was clasped in Pete's, held tightly. Pete could sense Patrick shaking next to him, and he pulled him into a little hug as they got closer to the church, a small smile touching his lips.


	20. The End

Patrick and Pete soon made it to the church, hand in hand, their heads resting on one another. When the great oak doors slammed open, Frank looked up from the knife he was sharpening. The sound of metal against metal scraped through the church, hurting Patrick's ears. He flinched and opened his mouth to say something, but Frank stopped, dropping his knives. "Hey, Pete. I was beginning to think you left." He stood from his place, his black clothes hanging loosely off his body. "Yeah," Pete said. "Miss me?" Frank snorted as he made their way toward them. Patrick twisted from Pete's grasp, stepping back as Frank came to a halt in front of him. "I see you've brought the birdie," Frank smiled. Pete laughed, nodding. "I've got 'em right here. Brendon's coming in a few minutes. Those damn Bloodrunners' killed off Dallon."

Frank's eyes widened, his mouth opening. "Fuck," he breathed. "Josh and Tyler aren't here, yet, but Mikey's in the back, doing some shit. Don't know what, though." Pete nodded. "Patrick, you stay here with Frank-" At this, Patrick's eyes widened, and his head snapped up to stare at Pete. Pete just laughed and waved the look off. "Frank, teach him the basics of the gun and knife. He'll need it if this arms race gets heated. I'm going to get Mikey." Frank nodded. "Come on, Pat," he said. "Follow me." Pete grabbed a black gun from the floor, jogging to the back. He loaded a bullet into place, bobbing his head to some heavy metal beat or another as he walked into the back room.

Suddenly, the gun dropped from Pete's hand. It hit the floor and clattered, its sound hollow as it echoed around the small room. Pete's brown eyes glinted as they widened in the evening light balancing through the window from outside, pooling on the floor. His jaw dropped, his heart pounding for two full seconds of frozen horror against his sternum. Blood roared loudly in his ears, his stomach churning and lurching in a terrible chorus of pain and shock. A single shadow was thrown against the floor, suspended in midair. Mikey Way was hanging from the ceiling, his eyes closed, his chest still. A noose wrapped around his neck, his feet swinging back and forth.

A discarded chair sat on its back a few feet away, Mikey's pale face streaked with tears, his brown hair falling sickly over his eyelids. The palms of his hands were bleeding as if he was digging his fingernails into them right before he died. Obviously didn't put up a fight, just went through a lot of pain. He was wearing a black shirt, blue jeans, and red sneakers. The sun reflected golden light onto his back, and he swung gently as if being pushed in a swing. A note was stapled to his shirt. Pete leaned forward to read it: Dear everyone who this may concern, I don't know who will find me, but it will most certainly be a member of the Congress of Ravens.

I am sorry for what I did, and how I had to end my life, but the guilt of me turning on my brother, the one I looked up to, was too great. I hope you guys understand, and continue to do what you know is right. I hope that my death affects nobody, because I am useless in all of this. Please don't cry for me. Tell my mom and dad that I'm gone, and please tell them not to cry for me.... Please don't hold a funeral or memorial or anything like that for me; I don't want the attention. Thank you. So long, and goodnight. Sincerely, Mikey Way "Oh....my....God...." Pete whispered. He kicked the gun out of the way, tugging the note from Mikey's shirt. A shaking hand was held to his mouth as thoughts ran wildly through his head. Then, a scream gurgled from his throat, tearing through his mouth. He heard the distant sounds of a gun and knife clattering against the ground as Frank and Patrick heard his scream. He heard footsteps pounding down the hallway, and then the door being forced open. "PETE! What's-Oh my God," Frank breathed, interrupting himself as he stopped dead in his tracks, staring at the hanging body of Mikey Way.

Pete felt Patrick slide into his arms, heard him crying."Pete-I don't want to-I don't want him to be dead." Patrick had never met Mikey before. Never talked to him. And yet here he was, shaking and crying at the sight of his hanging body. "Patrick, it'll be okay. Go with Frank outside. Go into the city. I-I'll take care of him." Patrick nodded and scooted out the door with Frank holding him firmly by the forearm, leading him away. ..... Pete set Mikey's body gently on one of the pews, his brown hair floating about in random pieces on the green cushion, his arm pressed across the polished oak wood back. "Goodbye, soldier," Pete whispered, finally letting tears cascade down his face in a river of pain and sadness. "You died fighting a battle we're all too scared to face." Pete smiled, rubbing Mikey's cold arm before slowly putting a white cover over him, closing his own brown eyes.

Pain rocked deep in his heart, and he struggled to control it and he got out his phone, and called Brendon. "Hey, yo, where are you at?" he said into the phone. "On my way there. Why?" Pete stared at the white cover, licking his lips. "Mikey's dead." ... "Hey!" an unfamiliar voice shouted, and then Patrick's back slammed against the wall. He felt the gun in his back pocket, pressing heavily against his skin. Frank was pushed to the brick beside him, knives held to their throat. Andy was holding down Patrick, and Jinxx was holding down Frank. They smiled at them, sickly sweet, looking into their eyes. Patrick's heart pounded against his chest, blood roaring in his ears. He felt the knife pierce his skin, just enough to draw blood, and he saw black and white spots, dancing in his line of vision. Fear and panic gripped his throat and he tried to remain calm, but his breath was rattling in his lungs like a box of rocks, and he felt weak. Through the haze in the mind, Patrick was able to tell himself to get out the gun, and he fumbled into his back pocket without Andy and Jinxx noticing.

His fingers wrapped around the metal, and it was smooth and fit into his palm perfectly, sliding through his firm grasp. He brought it between him and Andy, Andy's black eyes boring into his, the smile not leaving his pink, thin lips. Suddenly, a gunshot rang through the air, and Andy's eyes widened. He stumbled back, clutching at his stomach, and then at his throat, crying out and groaning, even whimpering a little. Blood filled his hand, which was at the wound, and stained it a deep red that made Patrick feel dizzy and lightheaded. Patrick gasped for breath, feeling at this throat. His fingertips came back red. His vision faded into a fuzziness as he heard a last sharp intake of breath from Andy.

The realization of what he had just did filled him with a burning flame, and he heard footsteps. As he started to cry, Frank grabbed his arm, pulling him along down the path to the church. "Frank," he gasped. "I killed him-I killed him-" "I know," Frank sighed. "I-I'm a monster...please...I don't-it should have been me-" "Patrick, that man has done horrible things. He's killed my best friend. He deserved to die." _So do I,_ Patrick thought. Frank pushed open the front doors of the church and pushed Patrick inside in front of him, and as soon as they got inside and the doors slammed close behind them, Patrick screamed.


	21. Questions

**Okay guys, here's your chance! If you have any questions for me, you can ask in the comments below. I will answer any questions; they don't have to be about the story. I promise I will answer every one, except for if it is offensive or rated M, then I will delete it. I ask that you not take this personally or think bad of me. I'm just not comfortable answering those types of questions. Thank you :)**

**Ask away!**


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